An Affiliation with the Abyss
by a wild jessca appeared
Summary: Darkness is coming. Recompense is coming. Tony can't sleep. When he does, he has nightmares. There are whispering voices in his head and no matter how much he drinks, he can't be rid of his demons. Loki warns Asgard of a dangerous enemy, close to home. The Avengers must act quickly to save the earth once again. Eventual TonyxLoki, warning within. Read & review!
1. Prelude

**An Affiliation to the Abyss**

"_I remember a shadow, living in the shade of your greatness._

_I remember you tossing me into an abyss."_

_**Warning: This fan-fiction contains strong language, violence, character death and some material that some viewers may find unsettling, (content relevant to anxiety disorders, depression, suicide, PTSD and possibly more). **_

_**There is eventual LokixTony and mild touches of ClintxNatasha.**_

_**It also contains possible spoilers for any who have not watched Thor, The Avengers/Avengers Assemble and/or any of the three Iron Man films.**_

_**Rated M for the above reasons.**_

_**Setting: This fan-fiction is an AU during the beginning of Iron Man 3, where "The Mandarin" and associates do not exist. Tony is still suffering with various issues relating to his mental health and Pepper has left him due to being unable to cope with watching Tony deteriorate. This is set mainly in the film version of the MARVEL universe, however there is some head-canon improvisation and small input inspired from the comics and cartoons.**_

_**Author's Note: Hey, thanks for reading, please give it a shot! It's a bit confusing and long-winded, but I worked hard. Also, I'd like to mention that to some, a major character in this fiction may seem unfamiliar! That is because they are a variation, inspired by the character from the original MARVEL comics and cartoons! Don't worry, they're basically their own thing and will be properly explained and introduced.**_

_**I do not, unfortunately, own any of the characters in this work. Enjoy!**_

_**For sgtPeanuts/Amy! You're awesome sweety and I love you!**_

**Prelude**

The girl looked very much like her father: flawless, porcelain skin; vivid, iridescent eyes; long, crushing-black hair. Just like her father, she was unconventionally beautiful. Silently, she sat on her bed, Father beside her.

Gold metal had been intricately welded to form the beautiful, floral-like headboard, while the covers were exquisite, ornate-patterned; the entire room exuded wealth and expense, though it lacked a personal touch. The walls were bare; no pictures or certificates or blemishes of any kind.

"Father," the young girl chimed, turning to look at his vivid, blue eyes – they always seemed so smart, so wise to her. She loved her father, very much. But only when she got her own way. "Father, is it true what they say? That grand-father has given me my very own realm?"

Gently, her father pulled a strand of hair behind her ear as his lips formed into a dashing smile. "Indeed it is." He agreed, studying her lightly. He did not see much of her and every time he visited, she seemed to have flowered into an even more beautiful being. What a shame it was that he did not have time for children.

There was the shame of her, too. A bastard child. She knew that she was unwanted, however much he tried not to let her see it. His father had given her this gift, because he knew it, too; he wanted to compensate something.

"When you come of age, you will be a goddess of your own realm."

"And when I am a goddess, I can have anything and everything I so wish!" she exclaimed with an excitable grin, adjusting on his lap to show him her bright expression.

For a moment, he smiled down to her.

Then the joy faded. "If only it were that simple, darling." He replied softly, before lifting her from his lap and leaving the room. It would be some time before he saw her again.


	2. I Am Staring Into The Abyss

**Chapter One  
I Am Staring Into The Abyss**

"_I'm not just a man with these broken dreams;_

_Even I could go to heaven, if I part the sea._

_What's life inside a bottle, if it's gone?"_

It was there.

In the silent, placid night; it was there.

The whispering voices of the void. They called for him.

"Magnificent, is it not?"

It was there, and so was a person. Tony sat up in is bed and considered yelling, but there was only silence.

"The power within the darkness," the whisperer continued, piercing eyes concentrated intently on Tony. "It is truly magnificent. It calls for you, Tony Stark. I see the abyss within your eyes."

A snide comment rose to the Iron Man's lips, but rather suddenly the other being was before him; so close, Tony swore he could taste its breath and hear the drumming of its racing heart. "One day, only silence will remain." it whispered, words falling like poison against Tony's skin, "Let that day be as distant as possible."

With that, he was gone. Before Tony even had chance to question the porcelain-skinned mirage's incoherent rambling, he was alone once more.

The whispering did not return that night.

**. . .**

"Sir, just a friendly warning; your blood toxicity is running at a dangerous level, that

combined with-"

"_Thank you_, JARVIS. Little busy." Tony called, throwing a few pieces of metal across the room without watching where they landed. The CEO pushed from under his workbench and grabbed the bottle of scotch that had been sat on the side.

JARVIS made the artificial intelligence equivalent of a sigh. "_Sir,_ I would not advise drinking any further, especially not whilst working." The system called, though in vain as Tony poured himself a generous glass of scotch, downed it and continued with his work.

"Remind me again – what are you?" questioned Tony, reaching up and running his hand across the top of the workbench blindly, before retrieving a rather impressive-looking laser. "An intellectually-designed, unique computer system complete with personality and high-tech, unbreakable security coding…_or _a middle-aged woman?"

Rather loudly, Tony cursed, having burnt his hand whilst trying to solder some metal plates. In pain, the man shot bolt upright – too late, remembering he was laid beneath his work bench and hence, banging his head rather violently. "Don't say anything." He growled to JARVIS, swinging from underneath the bench and clutching his head with one hand, other hand tucked under his armpit.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir. Or at least, I wouldn't if I could dream." JARVIS replied, "Would you like me to run the Physical Harm Assessment Procedure, sir?"

Tony shook his burnt hand a few times and then picked up the bottle of scotch, "Nope. I'd like you to run the Bring Tony More Whiskey Procedure. Why doesn't that exist? I should get that installed."

"Sir, I believe-" JARVIS began, but Tony tuned him out.

"You don't believe anything, you're computer." He retorted, leaving JARVIS to huff – or whatever excessively personalised computers did.

Strolling down his hall, scotch bottle in hand, Tony couldn't help but feel a slight sense of solitude. Not the good kind, either. The kind that he had, every night; the kind that left him wondering how he'd got here and why he was still here. Pepper had left him months ago, and the anxiety had only gotten worse since then. The nightmares were a recurrence, as were the headaches and panic attacks. The booze helped to drown some of the pain, but only amplified the fear.

What was there to even fear, anymore? Tony didn't have a single enemy in the world – okay, he had hundreds, but no enemies that could touch him. So, where did the fear stem from?

_The whispering._

A growl escaped the brunette millionaire's lips. Whispering. There was no whispering, there were just nightmares. Like the person, last night, in his room; just another bad dream. Tony was only hallucinating – although, last night seemed so vivid. _Reality check_, Tony. He was just having nightmares more and more often, nowadays.

"JARVIS, did we have an intruder last night?" he asked, rather suddenly. Just to be certain.

The system did not hesitate. "No, sir. I would have alerted you if we did."

Yes. So, definitely a nightmare. No one had spoken to him last night, there was no whispering and there was no _abyss_. Just a depressed, lonely genius having substance issues.

Good. So why was there still this constant, underlying fear?

Tony emptied what was left of the scotch bottle into a glass from the side and drank it, quickly. The burn was hardly noticeable and the taste no longer sent a shudder down his spine; it was almost like drinking milk to him, nowadays.

It was never strong enough, never enough to completely wash out the… Well, what even was it? There was fear. Angst. Confusion. _Death_. The general discomfort that lay in wait, beneath his skin.

That was what he longed for; death. A sweet, simple death.

But even in his darkest of mind-sets, Tony's arrogance was paramount; despite how he yearned for it, he would never do the deed himself. He refused to die at the hands of himself or an enemy. Both were weak, shameful deaths. Maybe kidney failure, or a pill overdose. Maybe an experiment gone wrong, or suit malfunctioned. Something ironic or idiotic, something that would reflect himself.

But not a cowardly, self-administered death.

"Sir, I believe that was the last of our beverage supply." JARVIS chimed, snapping Tony from his self-pitying day dream.

The scientist shook his head, "Don't lie to me, JARVIS." He mumbled, slamming his fist down on a button beside the fridge. The door to the fridge moved aside, while the trays within the fridge dropped down, into a chute and were replaced by new, food-and-alcohol-filled shelves. "You're a computer system. I built you. You're not _allowed_ to lie. You're not very good at it either, I lie better. Watch this. I love you JARVIS. Convincing lie, right?"

"It was worth a try, sir." JARVIS replied almost placidly, as Tony ran his finger through the air, attempting to select which bottle to open next. "Against your wishes, I've completed the Physical Harm Assessment Procedure," the AI continued. Tony's head snapped up, features contorting into confusion. Had he programmed JARVIS to continue procedures against command, or was that a lazy glitch? No, Tony didn't make mistakes; must have been part of the IUI-JIC, (_that stands for 'I'm Usually Inebriated, Just In Case')_ system he'd added a while back. The computer spoke again, "No trauma to your head, although the burn to your hand may scar. Just as a warning, sir, if you continue drinking at your current mean rate, there is a very high possibility you will require intensive medical attention within 4-6 days."

Raising an eyebrow, Tony closed the fridge. "Don't challenge me." He joked, with an underlying sense of truth and a casual shrug, opening the next bottle.

**. . .**

32 hours he'd been awake, now. Not his best record, but enough to remind him what a state he was in. Enough to make him try sleeping, too. Except, sleep was a luxury he didn't deserve. So was breathing.

5.15am: 2 hours and 37 minutes into his slumber, he awoke in a sweat. His breathing was ragged and his body shook. Something was wrong. Deadly wrong. Was he dying? He was dying. He didn't want to die. Not yet, not now.

Unable to make any noise beside hyperventilation, Tony scrambled upright in bed. His head swam – not with inebriated dizziness, either. With _oh-fuck-I-can't-breathe_ dizziness. The man's nails embedded into the bed sheets as he rocked backwards and forwards, attempting to catch his breath.

"JARVIS-" he managed to croak.

The system piped up almost immediately. "No cause for concern, sir, you're just suffering another panic attack." He stated, as though his stupid words would make the terror disappear. "Remember to breathe and that you're not dying. Or not yet, anyway."

_Remember to breath_! God, that system was stupid. Unfortunately, Tony did not possess the energy to be angry. The fear slid through his body, from bottom to top. It gripped his muscles and held them tightly; draining him of any physical strength, while his head raced and his breathing only increased. It didn't happen very often, but Tony felt himself on the very brink of collapse – his breathing faltered and his vision frayed at the edges.

Rather suddenly, it was there.

The whispering.

Maybe he was hallucinating – after all, how much had had to drink recently? Maybe the imaginary man from the night before would return. Maybe, he was just absolutely insane. Whatever, but as the soft voices fell on his ears once more, Tony found himself calmed. Not just calm, but void. Empty.

_Embrace death._

Words, now. Before, the whispering was just a faint tickle in his ear; an instinct, an urge. Now they were words, slipping into his mind from invisible lips.

_Embrace the dark._

Tony considered it, then; letting go of the pride and just having done with it. He kept a gun by his bedside, after all. Did he want to leave without saying goodbyes? Did he want to shoot himself in the middle of the night, without telling a soul?

Of course he did.

There was no-one for him. Nothing but a computer friend he'd built for himself and a few metal suits.

Pathetic. He was so pathetic.

But, he wasn't; he was Tony Stark. Half of the world wanted to be him and the other half wanted to fuck him.

Without realising it, the gun was in his hand. Shaky fingers traced the side, one clutched around the trigger. Click. Boom. That would be it. He'd be gone; no more pain, no more suffering. No more asking himself why; _why was he still here? What purpose did he truly serve to the world?_

It was there again, ushering him on; _Do it. Do it. _The whispering, in his mind pushed him to do it.

Well, why not?

Tony pressed the trigger. The gun fired.

No, it didn't. Fuck. He was so drunk he'd forgotten that he didn't even keep that gun loaded. Well, it was nice to know how weak he really was.

With a growl, Tony rolled onto his side and buried his face into the pillow. The man cursed repeatedly into the pillow for a few minutes, before fumbling beneath his bed for the bottle of gin he always kept handy.

"JARVIS," he grumbled, tensing his jaw, "Have you taken my booze?"

"I regret to inform you, sir, that I do not have the capability to remove your items." The system replied.

Tony sat bolt upright and pulled upon one of the nearby draws. No ammunition, despite the fact that was where he kept it, specifically for the pistol by his bed. "Don't lie to me, you _can't _lie to me. I _invented _you, I don't remember making you capable of dishonesty or-"

"Sir, I sense your blood pressure rising. Would now be an inadequate time to suggest-" JARVIS continued, only to be forcibly silenced; "Mute." Snapped Tony, jumping out of bed.

Unless he was going insane – which, frankly, he sort of was – someone had moved his gin. And his ammunition. Honestly, he knew it couldn't have been JARVIS; he was an Artificial Intelligence with no body. Great. Sober Tony was not a happy Tony. Then again, what _was _a happy Tony? Tony and happiness didn't really coincide anymore.

Suddenly, something within the Iron Man twitched; a glitch, an instinctual feeling.

"JARVIS, unmute. Do we have an intruder?" he asked, features contorting into a slight frown.

Tony kicked the gun beneath the bed and took a few steps forwards, listening intently, "No, sir. Our security system is flawless." The AI replied.

"You're sulking." Tony commented, raising an eyebrow and taking a moment to wonder in his own, genius creation. "I'm a genius. I created the robot equivalent of an angsty teenager as my butler. Fantastic, I'm great."

There it was again; the internal twitching. A warning, a calling. Like the whispers, but deeper and not as…_sinister_, for lack of better terminology. Maybe it was evolution; maybe his body was adapting to the fight or flight mechanism better, telling him to do one of the two.

Tony chewed his tongue, "We've definitely got someone down there, JARVIS." He decided, narrowing his eyes a little, "Run thermal diagnostics on the place, search specifically for anything abnormal downstairs."

Having paused, Tony decided that to follow his calling; after all, when was Tony Stark ever wrong? He stretched his arms aside and raised his chin, "Suit on." He whispered. A rectangular, red and gold brief-case looking thing flew from beneath the bed and began to unfold. Metal flew and clung to Tony's braced body, clasping and attaching until Tony was fully suited as Iron Man.

"Sir, it appears I was mistaken. There appears to be a strange energy radiating in the downstairs lounge area, sir." JARVIS suddenly reported as Tony was headed down the stairs. A grin lit the CEO's features. "I knew it." He grinned.

Downstairs lounge, huh? Directly above the basement, where his suits were kept. Great.

Actually, that wasn't of huge importance right now; who on earth had broken the security so seamlessly?

The answer was a lot easier to find than expected; stood proudly in the middle lounge was a tall, slender figure. The man had long, jet-black hair and flawless, porcelain skin. As he turned around, Tony caught them; piercing, azure eyes – tainted with something challenging.

"Tony. Always a pleasure." He greeted, chin raised defiantly high and shoulders squared as he watched the Iron Man approach fearlessly.

Unfortunately, Tony required a few moments to process the sight before him; was he hallucinating again?  
"Loki?" the brunette questioned, narrowing his eyes as he took one more pace towards the other and then halted.

The God's lips twisted into a devilish smirk. "Surprised to see me? I did rather expect as much." He commented softly, each word tauntingly and eloquently enunciated. When no further response came from Tony, Loki's grin only grew. "I apologise. I don't imagine I could possibly have disrupted your sleep any further?"

Angrily, Tony rose his head and glared at Loki for a little while before finally speaking again, "It's impressive, I'll admit. Escaping all the bondage Thor put you in, last time we saw. And getting in here, past my _flawless _defence system. Go on, tell me all about your plan to destroy the world, this time. Honest, I'm intrigued. Really."

Briefly, annoyance flickered in the Asgardian's incandescent blue eyes, before he eventually shook his head and the smile returned. "It is not_ I_ who plans any earthly atrocities this time, my friend." He reassured, though his tone remained calculated and synthetically charismatic. "I noticed you did not heed my prior warning, so I decided to warn you again, Tony Stark."

No, no, no. No, things were falling into place. The other night, the strange hallucination…Was not a hallucination? Loki had been there, _Loki _had been the one whispering in his ear incoherently.

"I see it in your eyes." Loki said, abruptly breaking Tony's train of thought. The Asgardian had closed the space between them without Tony noticing, only an inch or two taller than him in the suit. The Iron Man suit's mask rose so that Tony's amber eyes and could hone in and challenge the other's piercing, azure gaze.

They held it for a few split-seconds, before Tony replied snarkily, "See _what_?"

"The _emptiness_." Loki whispered, rather suddenly very close to him. His breath flew across Tony's skin once more, sending a shiver down his spine. "The darkness, the _void_ within your eyes. It has tainted you."

Tony didn't mean it – maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the fact Loki had once tried to destroy the fucking planet -, but he did it; he grabbed the God by his neck and rose him a foot or two above the ground, effortlessly. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just snap your neck right here and now." Demanded the CEO, tone surprisingly casual as he shrugged to the suffocating man above him.

Loki, however, barely struggled. Naturally, his hands wrapped around Tony's metallic arm for mild relief, but his eyes remained on target. His lips remained smirking. "You…need…me." He spat breathlessly, beginning to writhe a little now as his lungs begged for air. "I…know…the…void. I am here…to _help._"

It was there again. In his head. Whispering, _screaming_ in his mind; it raced and pushed and literally forced him drop the God, forced him to the ground. A scream escaped Tony's mouth, though he brought down the helmet to muffle it. What was wrong with him? What was it, inside of him? Hurting him, _controlling him?_

"Sir, it appears your blood pressure is elevating rapidly. I suggest ejecting the suit, sitting down and calculating your breathing." JARVIS chimed in softly from within the suit. Heeding advice for once in his life, Tony ordered the suit off and almost fell out of it. He grabbed hold of his knees, then fell into a sitting position, attempting to catch his breath. Fortunately, he felt calmer and stronger rather quickly, nails dug tightly into his trousers.

"You hear it." Loki whispered, causing Tony to rapidly jump, glaring with hardened, angry eyes. The God only continued, "You hear it whispering. The void calls to you."

"Do you not see?" the Asgardian asked softly, now knelt before Tony. The CEO's eyes narrowed onto Loki once again as his breathing fell ragged. The Iron Man suit had folded back into the briefcase of its own accord, while Loki rose to his feet. Tony felt bare; wearing only the jogging pants he had tried to sleep in, the Arc Reactor on show. Not to mention, his poor shape was clearly visible – his skin had already taken a yellowish hue, while his previous toning was slowly being replaced by a drinker's stomach.

Clenching his teeth as he stood, Tony eyed Loki challengingly. Loki was a good few inches taller than him, but he was slender and smaller in build. Besides the ridiculous, azure sceptre, Loki appeared unarmed, too. Tony met his gaze fearlessly – though not without shame.

"What I see is someone way out of their depth, challenging a genius in his own house. What do you even want?" Tony retorted with a hard expression, eyeing the fast forming bruises on the other's neck. Maybe trying to strangle the God had been a bit irrational, (_probably not_).

Regardless, now was not a time for remorse; he had, after all, just had a panic attack in front of Loki – that made him look to be in the weaker position. Tony Stark was not a man to accept this – he refused to allow anyone to have reason to think badly of him. Pride was all he had left.

The God before him watched with careful yet somehow playful eyes as he took a small step backwards, examining the entirety of Tony's form. "You have already allowed it to win and yet you do not see it." He snapped, righteous tone suddenly polluted with irritation.

"JARVIS, any idea what this ass is talking about?" Tony asked, appearing indifferent. Despite not caring for Loki's long-winded rubbish, he was very much aware that the other was after something; he had not come all the way from Asgard for nothing. Which, come to think of, caused further questions to resurface; how on earth had Loki returned, anyway? Last he'd heard, Loki was in seriously high-level confinement. What was he doing here? A small part of Tony – a very miniscule part, the sensible part – told him he should get JARVIS to alert S.H.I.E.L.D and have agents come over and lock this waste of space away.

But, Tony was not a man to follow sense; he was a rather whimsical man, after all. He preferred to play with the God first. Then he'd put him down, for good. "Sir, I'm afraid I fail to understand." JARVIS chimed, breaking Tony's thoughts rather abruptly. "Who, exactly, are you talking about?"

Confusion struck Tony. It wasn't often – in fact, to date, he couldn't remember it ever happening – that JARVIS didn't compute. Maybe it was down to a technical issue, which again, Tony believed infeasible.

Loki looked to Tony with a slight smile, a _knowing_ smile. "Are you not registering this?" Tony asked, jolting forwards and snatching the scruff of Loki's clothing in his hand. "This guy, here?"

"Sir, I'm not registering anything." The AI replied. Tony let go of the Asgardian and took a few, disorientated steps backwards. Okay, time to assess the possibilities. In order of most feasible to least:

1.) Tony was finally insane and/or this was some form of horrific nightmare.

2.) JARVIS had malfunctioned.

3.) Loki wasn't actually here, which probably tied in somewhat with the first reason.

Right, well that was that sorted. Tony disliked all of the options; either Loki was here and something was seriously wrong…or Loki wasn't here and something was also seriously wrong. Fantastic. No, seriously. Great. A challenge.

"Re-run thermal diagnostics." Tony demanded without looking away from the God. Rather quickly, the system shot back, "Sir, I have been running and re-running thermal diagnostics during the duration of your…conversation. There _does _appear to be an abnormality in the thermal energy surrounding you, but nothing at all substantial to indicate the presence of another being. If there is someone with you, I must say they have done an exceptional job in hiding their presence."

The billionaire sighed desperately, running both hands over his face and trying to make certain his breathing stayed regular. Calm. That's all he needed to be; calm. Looking up once more, he couldn't help but notice the look in Loki's blue eyes; a knowing look.

"Explain." Tony demanded, folding his arms and regaining a confident composure.

The God stared for a few more moments, before his humoured expression finally ran dry and was, instead, replaced by something foreign – a stern sense of angst, seriousness.

Loki ducked his had briefly, in thought, before lifting his chin to level his gaze ever so slightly above Tony. "There are many things in this universe." He began, tone rather cold and slow, "And many more to discover. Many of which, we do not understand. Even Asgard, with all its advanced technology and glorious sorcery still has very much to learn. A man may believe he knows the universe, when in truth he knows less than a mere world of knowledge. No man, but a dead man can be truly enlightened."

Stark rolled his eyes and moved away from Loki, choosing to perch on the arm of the nearby sofa – all the while, followed by the Asgardian. "So, when you die, you become a genius? We got a MENSA division up in Heaven, too?" Tony asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

In response, Loki shook his head. "Not at all. Upon death, you have potential learn everything, because you are no longer bound by mortal ties nor anything of the like." He explained, though it did not further Tony's understanding. "Upon the death of the body, the conscience continues living – the soul, if you will. The body is left to decompose, or cremate, but the mind? The mind leaves their realm. Every realm. The mind is free from the tightly bound crevices of mortal embodiment and hence, it disperses into the expanse _between_ the realms; the void, the _abyss_. It travels though the space between the realms, until it reaches Hel; the realm of the dead. There, it will gain a physical being once more, and have a place to rest. A purgatory. But, the space between the realms is treacherous and vast, many lose their way in the eternal dark. Worst, many souls become corrupt. A person can know anything and everything in the void, if the Guardian of Hel so lets them, but they cannot do anything, for they have no body. The pressure of the knowledge drives a soul insane until it gives in, disintegrates into nothing, reaches Hel or…it escapes."

Throughout the whole of Loki's "explanation", Tony had watched and listened rather intently. What he was saying made no sense, not to Tony; it was superstitious nonsense. In the brunette's opinion, when a person died, they died. Death was a privilege, one Tony looked forward to – it was a cease in existence, nothing more. Regardless, he was intrigued by what the Norse lord had to say. "So, this _void_, how is it relevant to you over-riding my security system?"

"The void is where the dead and the dying souls congregate, against their own will, before their final resting place. After I made attempt to overthrow my brother and failed, I let myself fall from Bifröst, the burning rainbow bridge. They thought me dead." Loki paused, eyes glazed with something distant. "I wish I had met death. Instead, I fell _into _the void. It tainted me with its insanity, its _death _before rejecting me. I was a _physical being _on the road of souls. I had no place there. You are unaware, but your soul is trapped, too. In the void. The darkness is coming for you, Tony Stark. Your soul is dying. Your soul is walking the road to Hel. The day will come when the abyss takes you entirely, or you reach the final resting place. I advise you, make that day as distant as possible. It is not your time to die, not yet."

It was rubbish. Absolute bullshit.

So why did Tony feel rather trampled with fear, suddenly? A dying soul? An abyss between the realms? It sounded so ridiculous, yet Tony could not doubt the God's words.

"I am tainted by the void and as are you, Man of Iron. Not only is your soul dying, but you have been within the void, too; when you travelled through the wormhole, last time we met." Loki continued, gravely, "That is how you can see me. I remain in Asgard, but I am able to construct a link to you between our shared corruptions. I can see it. Inside of you, I can feel it; I can hear the souls of the void whisper to me, to you. I can see it in your eyes; the terror. You are right to be afraid. I am afraid. The abyss is a terrible place."

Questions rose to mind - thousands of them, simultaneously, each one as dire as the next. Not a single word escaped Tony's lips; instead, he listened to the whispering words of what he now knew as _the void_ as Loki sent him one last, stern glance and then rather literally disappeared.

Later, Tony would discover several bottles of whiskey and gin, alongside some handgun ammunition in the lounge bin.

**. . .**

_"When's my daddy coming back?" she asked._

_The maid didn't answer, simply continuing to clean the raven-haired girl's quarters._

_"When's daddy coming back?" the girl repeated, degrading her tone into one of demand, rather than request._

_The maid was a pretty and young Asgardian woman; bright, blonde hair was clipped up and her light figure was adorned into a simple, but elegant dress. "I don't know." she replied, with an air of irritation to her words. She was not a fan of children, not at all._

_The pretty little girl, with flawless white skin and gorgeous, captivating eyes, was not satisfied with this answer. She felt it again; an uncoiling, a burning in her chest. A fire. A fire that started and only grew. "Why don't you know?" she asked, in a tone that seemed rather more sinister than it should have done, particularly from a child._

_The maid clenched her teeth, stopped her work and turned on her heel. She looked down to the little girl with an angry, intolerant expression, "Because nobody tells me anything. I'm just the maid." she snapped, "Now shut up and let me finish my work."_

_In later moments, the maid would learn to regret her temper. But the girl regretted nothing. She'd been reading about it; Asgardian mythology and magic. Her father had told her about it, about how he much preferred sense and sorcery to brute strength and violence. But she didn't understand why magic and violence couldn't mix._

_The angry fire within her erupted. She screamed, petulantly but terrifyingly at the maid, who stood in shock. Then, to her surprise, the girl did something no little girl should be capable of; she conjured real, damaging fire._

_The maid would later claim she simply fell and burned her face on the fireplace. But the others knew much better._


	3. I Am Knocking At Your Door

**Chapter Two**

**I Am Knocking At Your Door**

"_Do you think about everything you've been through?_

_You never thought you'd be so depressed._

_Are you wondering;_

_Is it life or death?_

_Do you think that there's no one like you?"_

_Forty-seven, forty-six, forty-five…_

Twitch. That wasn't there before. Was it? Maybe it was. It was there now. Twitching. Tony's fingers were twitching.

_Twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two…_

Due to the alcohol, or the sleep? Maybe both. No, just agitation. Maybe one too many adrenaline shots. Why were seconds so slow? What was he even waiting for?

_Nine, eight, seven…_

Not waiting, counting. Counting the seconds and minutes.

_Three, two, one…_

**02:00am.**

"Sir, it has been exactly 45 hours since you last slept." Tony chittered in a ridiculous voice, mocking his, (silent) AI. Actually, was JARVIS still running?

Who cared? Not Tony. No, Tony had better things to do. Like count the seconds. It was a good pass-time. Pointless. But good.

_Fifty-four, fifty-three, fifty-two…_

Maybe it was time for another coffee. Or another shot. Tony couldn't risk sleeping. What if it came, in his sleep? The "darkness"? No, that was ridiculous.

Was it?

_Give in._

The CEO jumped from where he had been sat, crashing to the ground breathlessly. Rubbing his eyes profusely, Tony stumbled to his feet; he'd drifted off, again. It was there. The whispering. It reached him whenever he tried to sleep. It plagued his mind, haunted his thoughts. Who was it, whispering to him? Loki said the "void" was filled with the souls of the dead and the dying. Was this whispering the whispering of souls? Did they want to take him? Why?

_Darkness will fall. Silence will fall. You will fall._

A rough, desperate scream escaped Tony's lips as his fingers entangled in his hair and he clung to his head, demanding in a whispered tone; "Make it stop!"

For what seemed hours, Tony sat there, in that position. The voice continued, humming nonsensical murmurs of "the void", the "darkness" and the "silence".

Eventually, he gave in; the whispering, the stress and the 45 hours of consciousness came crashing down on him.

But, there was no peace. Especially not in his dreams.

Tony opened his eyes. Surrounding him was darkness. Impenetrable, absolute tenebrosity. Without a shadow of a doubt, without defiance, Tony admitted the terror to himself; every region of his body was haunted with a weakening, painful sense of dread.

Was he awake, or asleep? Dead, or alive?

For the first time in years, Tony honestly wished to not be dead; if this was death, he did not want it.

The darkness was overwhelming. Was this _the void_ he was so terrified of? Was this the great, inevitable _abyss _he had been warned of by Loki?

Was this the reason he had been afraid to sleep? Was this the source of the whispering?

"_Yes."_

It was stronger, louder, closer than before; the whisperer's voice was near to him, nearer than ever before.

"Am I dead?" Tony asked, surprised and grateful to find his own voice. At least that liberty had not been removed from him.

In response, there was silence. For such a long time, only deafening silence; it hurt, so very much.

"_No." _the whisperer replied.

Fearfully, Tony swallowed. So, he had a body? "I'm alive, then?" he checked, attempting to move the rest of his being. Though he could not see them, he could feel the weight of his hands as he reached out. His hands met nothing, but at least he _had _hands.

"_No_." the whisperer replied, again.

Tony was perplexed. Not alive, but not dead? Was that not the state he had been in for years; within, dead, despite his beating heart?

There were hands on his shoulders. Cold, almost ghost-like hands; though he did not see them, he felt them. So light and so odd, almost as if those hands were not there. From behind, there was also another whisperer; "Do not be afraid." A familiar voice advised, words dripping softly in his ear. Loki. What was Loki doing here? "You are asleep, unharmed. But, the void can reach you with far more strength in your sleep. You must learn to fight your demons, Tony Stark; start with your vision. Once you overcome the fear, you will be able to see. Once you can see your enemy, you are one step closer to defeating him. It is not just your own sanity at stake."

Enemy? Fighting, even in his head. Joy. Tony did, honestly, wonder why Loki was helping him – and how had Loki reached him? Was no place safe? Even whilst asleep, Tony was chased by his enemies.

"You're in my dreams, now?" Tony asked, pulling a face; though, he knew it went unseen. "I'm not sure I like that."

Loki made a sort-of grunt, before speaking in a rather displeasured tone, "Be it to your distaste or not, I, too, can reach you better in your dreams. The void's link to you is stronger when you sleep, because you do not have the consciousness to fight it. In your dreams, your mind is free; your mind is neither happy nor stable one and so the darkness flocks to you. Now, rid yourself of the fear."

"_Do you wish for death, Tony Stark?" _asked the whisperer.

Tony was uncertain of how to answer. Calmly, he decided that – for once in his life – he would need to be as sensible and rational as he could. Closing his eyes – not that it _really _made any difference -, Tony decided to review his situation.

There was a place between the realms. Tony had been there. Loki had been trapped there. Dead people had to travel through the "void", as it was called, to reach Hel; the realm of the dead.

The void whispered to him. There was _something_ that wanted him to join them in the void. Tony's soul was on its way into the void because Tony wanted to die. Because Tony hated life, despite his riches and the women and the fame; he hated himself.

Loki had been trapped in the void and it had "tainted" him; so much that the God would not wish such a fate even on Tony, an enemy. Loki was here to try and help Tony fight his own mind, and the void.

But beyond that, there was something more – _"it is not just your own sanity at stake_"? What was Loki hiding?

"No." He replied, finally – but honestly. "I want a cease for existence. Not death. I don't want to live a second life in another realm, or an afterlife. I don't want consciousness, anymore."

Surprisingly, the dark seemed to fade somewhat; the black transformed into a slightly greyer existence, although only by a largely negligible amount. Through the darkness, Tony could very vaguely see the presence of _something_. A person, he felt. But it was too dark, and Tony was too afraid. Against his instincts, his gaze dropped the ground and as it did, the darkness grew once more.

"_Tony_." Loki hissed from behind. "Tony, you must not give in. I understand the difficulty, but you must learn that no dark is impenetrable, you must learn that though you cannot see the flame, you are not broken. You are the flame. You are a whole man, Tony. You must grow to accept this and overcome your demons."

The God's words struck deep, despite Tony's attempts to ignore. Loki might be here to help, but he hated it. Loki was not a good person – he had tried to kill his own brother and take over Earth. But Loki knew what Tony was fighting – this "_darkness_", he'd come to realise, was simply like a physical form of his depression; it was confusion, corruption, fear and anger. Tony had entered the void through the wormhole during the Chitauri invasion and the void had tried to take Tony's sad little soul.

Slowly, Tony raised his gaze once more and – bravely – took a step forwards. "Join the void." urged the Whisperer, "Do it. Free your soul from your body. Enter the abyss. It is void of anything and everything."

Tony's jaw locked tightly and he exhaled slowly. When he woke up, he might never remember this. So why did he care so much about what happened here, in his dream? Part of him knew this was more than a dream, more than a figment of his imagination. "What could I possibly have to offer?" he questioned, rather honestly, "Who are you? The void, it's that kind-of space between the nine realms, right? Between the ice place and earth and the dead place and all the other places? It's where your "soul" travels to reach purgatory, or something? So, what are you? Why do you _want _me to kill myself and get caught somewhere I shouldn't?"

And then, silence. Tony knew it; he'd struck a chord. There was more to it. This wasn't simply his depression. This was something more; there was something, _someone _trying to kill Tony – or, rather, make Tony kill himself. Someone wanted Tony to be trapped between the realms, anyway.

With a start, he awoke.

Everything. He remembered everything. Slowly, things were piecing together.

The space between the realms, the void; someone was in there. Someone, there, wanted Tony to join them – wanted Tony to die. Loki knew. Loki didn't care about Tony's depression – not really. But Loki cared about keeping Tony alive, for some reason.

So, why? Who wanted Tony dead? Who was waiting in the void?

There was only one decent way to find out.

"JARVIS? Do me a favour?" he asked as he climbed to his feet, stretching his sore muscles.

The AI chipped in immediately. "Yes, sir. I am programmed to do anything and everything." He confirmed.

"Good. Wait five minutes and then call 911." Tony ordered.

**. . .**

The familiarity of it sickened him.  
The way the doubt, the questions snuck up behind him. Grabbed a hold of him and pierced his mind, his _sanity_, ensued by nothing but grief and confusion.  
Grief, though for what? Confusion over unasked questions.  
There was no relent. As the prior horror began to fade away, a fresh sense of terror overcame him. He relived events he never knew happened – and events he knew all too well were true.  
He awoke screaming and yet met no release; the fear remained, accompanied then by shame and further grief.  
Some nights were better. Some nights were worse. Some nights, he could sleep afterwards. Some nights he screamed so loud, he feared his father could hear all the way from his comfortable bed in the palace.  
Some nights, he had to work himself out of bed and distract himself.

But, distract himself with what?

Locked away, in a small cell in Asgard prison; Loki was very well aware that he would see nothing but solitude for a very, very long time.

Yet, he had to be grateful for his solitude. It had changed him. Not only that, but he had discovered things; very, very important things. For instance, he had learned of his ability to reach into the void and see, _feel_ the souls of the dead and dying. Not just that, but he had also learned of those souls' new abilities to annex each other. It was rather frightening; they adjoined and held one, singular form. That was something that was never meant to happen. Yet, no-one in Asgard believed his fears; because, no one could see. No-one understood what it was like within the abyss, because no one had ever been within it.

No one besides himself and Tony Stark.

That was yet another thing he had learned; of the connection he held to Tony Stark. Sometimes, at night, Loki's mind travelled to the abyss and within the abyss, he heard it – the desperate, agonised screams of Tony's dying soul. The man was so broken. Twisted, hurt, depressed, misunderstood and out of control.

Worst of all, Loki pitied him – Tony was his enemy, once. But Loki no longer cared for enemies. Solitude had been all he had had for quite some time, now; since the Avengers had defeated him and Thor had locked him away, he had cherished the very idea of contact. Enemies were worth nothing – the very idea of hating anyone seemed so petty, now.

Poor Tony Stark: he was everything Loki was, once. Filled with hate, hurt and hunger for something less. Something less than death, even.

But the empathy and the new-found sense of tranquillity, they had not formed for no reason; Loki was aware of a much greater threat. Tony Stark was not just depressed; he was targeted. Loki knew why. Loki knew who. Loki knew it was entirely his fault. It was the guilt; the realisation of the consequences of his actions, assisted by his solitude that forced him to be a new man.

The God's head tilted upwards slightly, upon hearing the door to his cell open. Something was different.

"Brother," Loki greeted, standing to meet Thor's stern gaze as the blonde entered the small, white room. In response, the other's gaze only tightened.

"Do not refer to me as your _brother_." He said, though not angrily; deep down, Loki was very much aware of how Thor felt towards him. "What you said – what you keep saying -, about the void. About it deforming. What do you mean? No tricks."

Calmly, Loki rose his hands. "No tricks." He agreed, "I have no need for tricks, further."

Honestly, he meant it. He was a changed man.

There was a brief, deliberate silence as he gathered his thoughts. "There has been a disruption in the journey of the dead, I told you. Souls are not going to their purgatory; rather they are adhering and becoming one. They are becoming a darkness, one that only grows and wishes to devour everything. _Everything_."

Thor turned his head turned away in thought. "Hela assures us all is well in Hel, but Father is certain otherwise." He replied, eyeing Loki very carefully. Hela was the daughter of Loki – there had been much speculation and controversy over the exact details of the matter; Thor had taken to just accepting it, for now – and had been appointed goddess and ruler of the spirits of the dead, in the realm of Hel. Hel was simply the resting place for the dead – many aspects of it were lovely and many were not. It was no paradise, nor any punishment.

Regardless, Thor was understandably suspicious of Loki. It was no secret that Hela was ambitious, nor was it any secret that she had inherited Loki's rebellious nature.

"Odin is correct. There is something sinister occurring to souls before they reach the realm of the dead." Loki agreed. However, his opinion wavered on the subject of Hela; he had known it was her, really. He just had not wished to admit it to himself. Well, there was no room for denial further. "If Hela is behind this, we must act quickly. She is prohibiting dead spirits from entering her realm in order to use them for herself. These souls are conjoining, creating a large source of life-energy. _If _it is Hela, then I am certain I know what she plans. She has told me of it before, but I never thought anything of it."

Rather suddenly, Thor's strong arms had grabbed Loki's shoulders, "Never thought anything of _what_, brother?" he questioned, desperation tainting his tone. The ever-growing darkness had been devouring Asgard; there had been a heavy depression and Odin had been very well aware of the dwindling numbers in Hel. There had been disturbances, strange energies inside of the abyss. Not to mention Loki's relentless screaming at night – something was eating away at the world. Something needed to be stopped.

"When she was younger, she spoke of it." Loki began, suddenly hit by a feeling that something was deadly wrong. Not just with Hela, but someone else, too; someone important. _Tony_. "When she was promised a realm, when she became the goddess of death. She wanted one; an army, of the dead."

**. . .**

Around him.

Nothing.

Not even true darkness; just complete, utter _nothing_.

Kind of like being blind, he imagined. Except, Tony was very well aware that he wasn't blind. Well, it was possible, but he wouldn't find out for a while.

Maybe he'd never find out.

Rather suddenly, the nothingness erupted into _something_. Something bright, brilliant and briefly beautiful; into memories, into nostalgia, ecstasy, joy. As quickly as the happiness came, it left and Tony drained. By the second, he could feel himself slipping away. There was not long.

"I know you're there." He called out, surprised to find his own voice. At least he had something. "So, let's talk, yeah? This is what you wanted, am I right? Me? Here? In your void, with the other dead souls? Let's chat. I've got time."

Around him.

Something.

It seemed to disintegrate around him, forming the scene of a _world_; vast, misty hills, grey-blue sky, a well-trodden gravelly floor and a mild breeze. Nothing pretty. Nothing ugly.

Before him, appeared something else; a woman. Tony wasn't really one for the gothic-looking types, but she was a beautiful exception – faultless white skin, shiny ebony hair and piercing green eyes that emanated an eerie light even through the mask she wore. Yet, there was something about her. An aura, a feeling. As she spoke, it became clear.

"I have been waiting for you quite some time, iron male of Midgard." She said, voice soft, enticing; a deadly, spoken kiss.

Tony grunted. Her? She was _the Whisperer_, the one who had been trying to drag his soul into the abyss? She was the reason he could not sleep, the reason his depression seemed to peak more each day? Odd. "Iron Man works better. Less of a mouthful." He commented, shrugging. So, he had a body, here? Peculiar that he hadn't noticed its return. "Or Tony. Hey, this isn't '_the void_', is it? Is this heaven?"

A mischievous grin rose on her kiss-red lips. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Its name is Hel." She replied, taking a step towards him. She was exceedingly tall; reaching a height that was definitely about 6'. It was difficult not to stare at her rather ostentatious, out-of-place clothing, either: she wore a tight-fitting black material from neck-to-toe, complete with green patterns. Upon her head, she wore a black, antlered helmet that finished just beneath her eyes, concealing them partially from view. "Yes, Tony. I have been waiting for you to join me here. Tell me, how did you die?"

Tony said nothing.

"I understand. I had a feeling you would join me this way." She replied, suddenly before him. A slender hand stroked his cheek. "I could see it, within your eyes. Had I known how important you were, Tony Stark, I would not have let the void reach you. It was too late to save you by the time I learned."

Ice cold. Like a dead person's hands. Tony had not noticed before, but there was neither material nor flesh where her hands should be – instead a cold, texture-less green light. "I'm important?" he repeated nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow as he pushed away her hand, "I'm not the one in the fancy get-up. Who are you?"

"I am important, too." She grinned, "My name is Hela, Dead Queen, Mistress of the Darkness and daughter of Loki, God of Mischief."

That would explain a few things – her appearance, her language and Loki's interest in the situation. But what did Loki's offspring want from him? "Nice to meet you. Tony Stark." He greeted, though did not offer a handshake. Didn't really seem appropriate. "So, that's why you're important. How about me?"

"My father is very fond of you." She said, as though contemplating the idea for the very first time. "When they locked him away, you were the only one he could communicate with. Through the link, the void link. For quite some time, he watched you. Then, when he saw how _broken _you were…Well, he couldn't resist. He had grown to like you. He tried to help. You see, his imprisonment changed him. He is at peace with the world now, but not with himself. I have grown to be more ambitious, while he turns into a shrivelled, old man. Once, we wished for similar things – though never said in so many words. Now, it is only I who wants such things."

"Oh yeah?" Tony chimed quickly, "Such as?"

Hela smiled. "I wish for _everything_. My army of dead will ensure I gain it." She replied curtly, "My father once promised to help me. But, now…He seems to have lost spirit. When he escaped the void, he was so beautifully corrupt. I tried so hard… Throughout my childhood, we did not get along. He always turned his back to me, and I always respected him regardless. When he fell into my abyss, I tried my best to poison him against the world and make him care for me. His daughter. But he does not. I…I am nothing."

Tony's vision slipped slightly – blurred for a second and then corrected itself. He ignored it, primarily because things were beginning to make sense. "I get it." He laughed, "I get it. You need your dad's help to take over the world or whatever crazy plan you have, but he doesn't want world domination or _whathaveya_ anymore. So, how does killing me come into the equation?"

"You are wrong!" She replied, tone dry though expression excited. "It is simple. I have never known my father's love, only his disgust and regret. Well, now I have given him true reason to disgust and regret his decisions. You are dead. He cares for you. It will hit him hard. You are only the beginning, Tony Stark. I will destroy my father and every one of the nine realms, too. I am more than a mere mistake."

Despite her important words, Tony was caught at the beginning of her soliloquy; Loki cared for him? _Loki? Care_? Bullshit. Complete bullshit. Unbelievable. "He's not capable of caring, he's-"

The Dead Queen smirked. "He's just like you." She finished. Maybe she said more, Tony didn't know; his vision failed completely. The world around him dissolved once more into nothing, then that nothing transformed again into agony.

It burned. He tried to scream, but his throat was parched. A hot sweat ran over his body and, rather suddenly, he plunged back into life.

But not into consciousness. Hela made sure of that; the whispering pinned him down and made him sleep a disturbed, painful sleep.

**. . .**

Smart.

The man was smart. No wonder her father had taken such a shine to him. Tony Stark was an intelligent, but lonely, broken and misunderstood man. Just like her father. Neither of them felt they were capable of love; they both pushed away any instance of affection and instead made an unwitting affiliation with the abyss.

Tony Stark had tricked her at her own game; how peculiar. She was being too confident, that was it; she should have waited to see if Tony stayed, before revealing her intentions to him. Sometimes people made it to purgatory and were snatched away, back to life again. Sometimes they didn't make it through the abyss before returning. Tony's body must have failed pretty badly for him to have stayed with her for so long, however. He was weak.

She had to act quickly, however. For a very long time, she had been gathering souls into her army; many of the dead had no choice. That's why she caught them within the void, before they reached purgatory; she promised they could enter Hel after they had served it. As much was fair, they believed. But, was she ready? She had not yet made certain that there were enough hosts for her dead army. It would be risky and dangerous to attack Midgard now, especially since Tony Stark knew her plans. But, not impossible. Nothing was impossible.

Soon, she would have it. One, large realm of shadow. The idea was so appealing, so enticing. Yet no one shared her vision.

Loki had, once. Loki knew what it was like to live in shadows. Yet, now, he hated her ideals; he wanted peace. Fool. A worse man than he was a father, for sure.

Tony was weak. If she could force him down, into unconsciousness for a while, she would have the element of surprise. Then, she would travel to Midgard herself and finish the dead. Slowly, painfully.

"_Father will watch._" She grinned to herself.


	4. I Am The Oncoming Storm

**Chapter Three**

**I Am The Oncoming Storm**

"_I am a little bit of loneliness, _

_A little bit of disregard,_

_Handful of complaints,_

_But I can't help the fact that_

_Everyone can see these scars._"

"An army of dead?" Odin repeated, stepping backwards rather gracelessly and sitting slowly into his throne. Thor stared silently, respectfully and dutifully at his father as confusion ran over the old man's face. Loki could not bring himself so look at Odin. Not properly.

The blonde nodded, noticing that his father was truly at loss. "We believe so. As you suspected, Loki is adamant that there is a disruption in the flow of the dead into the afterlife. It is very feasible, father. How do you propose we act?"

Much to Loki's discreet irritation, Odin continued to labour his response; evidently spending a long time contemplating their various approaches. In the Frost Giant's opinion, the answer was obvious. Regardless, he chose not to intervene; with shackled hands and powerless, Loki was in no place to propose anything. Besides, he did not wish for any further animosity. Not right now. "Go. Have Heimdall grant you passage through the fastest route he can make available for you."

Thor nodded. "Yes, father." He agreed, turning on his heel, fist tightly gripped around Mjölnir.

"Wait." Odin ordered, standing once more. Both men turned to face their father, who wore a concerned expression upon his withered features. "Do not do this alone. There are those in Midgard who will assist you; seek them out first, if you can."

Before they could leave, they were stopped once more; this time, but Loki. "I, too, have a condition." He said, calmly.

Face expressing disbelief, Thor shot round to look at his brother. "I do believe you are in a position to make demands-" he began, but trailed off as he saw a look of genuine worry on Loki's face. Emotion seemed so foreign upon Loki's features that it actually stifled Thor of breath and send a sharp shiver down his spine. When Loki showed true emotion, that was when the situation was dire.

"I do not wish for Hela to be harmed. If possible." The dark-haired God pleaded, eyes showing way further to his genuine concern.

Odin turned to leave, however. "You had your chance to be a father a long time ago, Loki." He replied. Not coldly, almost sadly. "Times pass and sacrifices must be made for the greater good. I trust you will do what you must, Thor. Do not let him out of your sight."

Loki hung his head and followed Thor out of the icily silent room.

. . .

Carl Wadding was a regular guy. Sort of. He worked in a mortuary.

Regardless, he was pretty average. Reaching just short of 5'11", he had plain features and boring, green eyes. His hobbies included football, smoking and the occasional drink - he'd seen too many damaged livers to dare drinking much more. For some reason, he still continued to smoke, despite all the black lungs he'd handled. Smoking was more relaxing than drinking, so it was worth it in his view.

Besides, Linda said she liked the smell. Linda was his second wife, after the first one left him and took the kids off to the UK. Bitch.

Oh well, he could be worse. Like this poor sod in front of him. The naked man on the table was 87, identified as Nigel King. Cause of death appeared to be heart attack. As was surprisingly common, he'd died on the toilet. It was quite sad and a little horrifying, but nothing to be phased by. Not for his job.

Carl was only beginning the job, beginning to remove the brain when it happened.

The stiffy moved.

Carl screamed as _dead_ Nigel King grabbed his arm with an iron grip, as though rigor mortis had occurred for a second time, around his arm.

Nigel sat up, head half cut open, a sloppy grey mass of brain tissue visible through the large incision.

Carl hollered incoherently, erupting into blind panic as he tried to shake away the dead, old man. Quietly, at first, he heard a metal rattling. Someone running to his aid?

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Carl managed to throw the living-dead guy across the room. Nigel King's hand remained latched onto his arm, however.

But Carl barely noticed; he had found the source of the rattling.

There metal cots behind him, piled up to the ceiling. And those drawers were moving. But not alone. The hands and feet of _dead _people began to appear, desperately trying to escape their drawers. They jumped and fell to the ground, moving, silently; an army of dead people.

**. . .**

_"You need to see her, Loki."_

_Reluctantly, Loki turned to Odin. Azure eyes, filled with hate. Anger. Rage._

_What was it that made Loki feel so constantly offended? Was it his parenting? _

_With a grunt, Loki looked away again. "I do not see why." he retorted, "She is a spoiled child, throwing a tantrum."_

_"She is __**your **__spoiled child." Odin snapped back, his own expression now contorted with anger, too, "What makes you feel as though you are not required to be a parent? Have I ever given to you the impression that anyone had that right?"_

_Loki did not respond, much to Odin's offense. _

_Hela was not Loki's only bastard child. There were others and surely others to come, given the man's tendency to lure beautiful women to bed with his silver tongue._

_Regardless, Odin hated that Loki did not care for these children. Hela was the only child Loki chose to give quarters within the palace in Asgard, primarily because he could not leave her with her mother. Things were more complicated than that, apparently. He never learned the story, nor did he care for it. He just wanted Loki, his son, to be a decent parent. A child from a broken hone was almost certain to become a broken child. It was unfair. _

_"Loki, she is honing abilities far beyond her expected capabilities. Do you feel no pride? She is a talented sorcerer, like yourself." Odin continued. Briefly, Odin thought he saw something within Loki's eyes - a break in the anger. But it was fragile and it fled, almost instantly._

_They spoke no more that day. Loki simply turned on his heel and disappeared. In truth, he was proud. In truth, he did care. But the positivity was outweighed by the fear; his own upbringing had felt so broken. For so many years, his father had made him feel so inadequate. He'd rather have had no father at all, than one that made him feel so small._

_That was his fear; he was so scared of being an awful father, that he would rather not be a father at all. He wished Hela had a mother to live with, a mother that would tell her that her father was a dead hero. Instead, she had no one except for the unwanted son of Odin. She only stayed within Asgard, because he could not live with himself if he threw her to the streets. Odin would not let that happen, either._

_A thousand maids could have their faces marred, for all he cared. Anger made a person stronger, anyway. _

. . .

Normally, Loki was not one for premonitions; but today was incredibly different. As they reached the golden gates, where Heimdall, brother of Sif and guardian of Bifröst stood, it shook him – a sense that something, something very bad was happening.

"Havoc is occurring within Midgard." The giant warned, hands resting firmly upon his ornate long-sword.

Thor nodded to his friend. "We are aware. My father has sent us to offer assistance and retrieve Hela." He replied. For a moment, Heimdall did not speak.

"Tony, too?" he questioned. The man's deep voice rose like a sharp, terrifying pain along Loki's spine.

The God stepped forwards rapidly, almost tripping due to his imbalanced, shackled state, "What about him?" he asked, causing an eruption of confusion upon both Thor and Heimdall's features.

Again, silence. The awful kind. The kind that did not need to be broken, for its perpetual, tense state spoke a thousand words; Tony was dead. Loki knew it.

"Heimdall, you must grant us passage to Midgard." Thor insisted, breaking the silence; he would question the horrified expression on his brother's face later.

In response, Heimdall began walking. There were no further words for some time.

. . .

They would all be here, shortly. Or they'd better be.

What the hell was going on?

Something ridiculous.

Something he was going to sort out.

"Good. You're here. You took your sweet time." He growled, turning to face the team that had assembled before him, "I assume you've been informed of our situation."

Only two members of his team nodded. The other two looked amongst each other, rather lost.

"Hey, where's Tony? Couldn't be bothered to get here on time?" Captain Rogers joked, seeking approval amongst his peers. Natasha and Bruce only looked to him in horror, then to Nick.

Nick Fury said nothing for a moment, but his expression alone stunned Steve into silence. "Tony Stark was admitted into hospital earlier today. He will not be joining us." He said, furrowing his brow.

The Captain looked a little lost for a few moments, which was enforced by the genuinely sad expressions upon Agent Romanov's and Doctor Banner's features. Agent Barton, considerably calm – as per – frowned, "Tony? What for?"

"Uh, suicide. He's not doing good." Doctor Banner answered, when no-one else seemed to want to. The expression of confusion on the Captain's face was soon overrun by genuine upset and guilt, while Clint only blinked in disbelief.

Nick Fury, growing increasingly impatient, allowed the news to settle in before breaking them away from their disbelief, confusion and sorrow. "I hate to disrupt this moment, but we have more pressing issues." He warned, watching as the Avengers displayed a mixture of offense and concern. "Believe it or not, it appears the dead may be rising."

Bruce broke into an awkward chuckle, "No way, zombies?" he asked, in amusement and shock, before coughing and forcing a more sensible demeanour, "You mean, people rising from the dead? Are they hostile?"

Nodding, Director Fury adjusted in his seat and then stood up, "Yes, which means we are faced with a moral dilemma. We will have to desecrate the bodies of the deceased in order to protect the living. I trust you will all be able to make the right decision."

There was a series of nods from the group, though some were not as confident as he'd have liked. "Another thing – we have reason to believe Asgard are involving themselves. Thor and Loki have reportedly arrived on earth."

"Loki?" snapped Natasha, pressing two delicate, red brows together in anger.

The Director nodded. "You've been trusted to make the right decisions. So has he, apparently. Now get out there and try to prevent as many casualties as you can, am I understood?"

This time, the nods were completely confident.

. . .

"You are of no assistance, here, brother." Thor said firmly, narrowing his blue eyes onto the thin, hunched figure of the Laufeyson boy.

Loki turned to him, rather slowly, with a clenched jaw. Thor had released the shackles upon Loki, (there were other Asgardian soldiers nearby) yet he continued to feel trapped by the other man. "A few more moments, or have you no patience, Thor Odinson?" he chided. His azure eyes looked exceedingly tired, Thor noticed; adorned with greying bags beneath them and narrow, red lines and blotches in the whites. Had he been crying, or was he simply very tired? Thor decided he didn't want to know the answer.

"I do not have patience, not when there is such imminent danger." he growled, through gritted teeth. Despite their situation, he was still very intolerant of Loki. He would not, by any means, forgive him. Not for a long, long time. But, Loki was still dear to him. Still, deep down, his brother. The flames of brotherhood were hard to douse, he had learned.

Eventually, Loki rose from Tony's bedside. "He died, Thor. Do you understand what that means?" He asked, rhetorically; it was less of a question and more of a challenge.

"I understand. But he is alive, now. So let us do what we can. Father says Hela will struggle to enter this realm in her natural form, unless she travels through the abyss." Thor explained, hoping to coerce Loki into co-operation, "Even then, she will struggle to enter Midgard without being noticed."

Loki shrugged and ran a hand through his mid-length, jet-black hair. "She is intelligent." he said, rather vaguely. He risked a brief, fleeting glance at Tony's nearly lifeless body. The man's condition was stable, he's been told, but that offered him no comfort. While Tony slept, nearly comatose, he was susceptible to any kind of torture Hela wished to inflict upon him. Hopefully, she would be too busy to harm Tony further.

Loki looked back to Thor, realising he had not finished his sentence. "She is intelligent. Like me, she chose the path of scholarship and sorcery, rather than strength and force. That makes her a more difficult foe. She can persuade and coerce. Not to mention, the army she has managed to collect. You understand this? She will have planned things very, very carefully."

In response, Thor nodded. He then gestured for Loki to walk with him. Although anxious about leaving Tony - what if Hela send someone to harm him, kill him? -, Thor had ensured that Tony would be under constant watch. As if summoned by his fear, four men in gold Asgardian armour entered the room. Evidently, Heimdall had sent them down and they'd been waiting for the two brothers to leave.

"Yes, we are aware. I hope you are also aware that I have been assigned your guard?" Thor checked.

Reluctantly, Loki nodded. "I am." he confirmed, sourly "Now, do try to pay attention. I understand you lack the intellect I have, but I beg of you that you do your utmost to understand me."

Thor simply shot Loki a dirty look. Loki continued, "We need to assess how we believe Hela will try to enter Midgard. If she wishes for anonymity, she is capable of taking over the mind of someone, if she catches them just upon the brink of their death."

Rather suddenly, Thor understood why Loki seemed so anxious about Tony; what if Hela took control of Tony? For some time, Tony's heart actually stopped.

"So, Tony-" Thor began, but was cut off by the other shaking his head.

"She knows we'd be expecting that. I am very well acquainted with both Hela and Tony. I would not be fooled if that happened." Loki reassured, "Besides, I was moving to express my doubt that she will take a human form. She is too arrogant and too filled with damaged pride for that. She'll make a spectacular appearance, I suspect. But first, she'll lay some foundations."

The blonde looked quizzical. "By that, you mean what exactly?" he asked, as they came to a stop outside the hospital.

Loki swallowed, glancing around their surroundings as he spoke. "I mean, she will begin to infiltrate Midgard with her deceased army. As Goddess of Death, she is within her power to take over a human form when they are gracing their grave. She is also capable of retrieving the bodies of dead and returning souls to them, though she is forbidden to do so. Of course, if she intends war, then she will care not for rules, but for tactics. These creatures do not last long – the strength of her sorcery makes them able to move for some time, before the bodies are rendered completely useless and the soul moves onto the next host that it finds."

For what seemed an excessive amount of time, Thor only stared blankly at his brother. When Loki eventually returned the gaze - two shades of blue meeting -, he could see the genuine concern. What was it that made Thor care so much about this realm, he wondered?

That woman, the one he met all that time ago, probably.

Loki was indifferent. Internally, he longed for peace. Safety. Security. But was he genuinely concerned about the welfare of the humans? Not really. Not at all. But, he understood the imbalance Hela's actions would create. He also understood that this was, largely, his fault. For failing, as a father, as. mentor. As a being, really.

He cared for regularity. But really, solely, he wanted things to be normal for Tony.

He couldn't get it out of his mind; it was rotating, round and round. Why had Tony tried to end his own life? Loki had tried his very best to warn Tony – stay away from the darkness! The void, the abyss was trying to beat him. It was not like Tony to lose.

He was overcome with a sudden, heavy sense of failure. Swallowing it down, he turned to Thor, who seemed to be talking.

"She intends to use the bodies of human deceased for her army of dead souls?" he questioned, looking equally as disgusted as he did confused. "That's despicable."

Loki shrugged, shamefully. "She is her father's daughter."

Thor did not respond.

. . .

The nightmares were intense. Short, but recurring. One would disappear and he'd feel as though he was beginning to clear, beginning to reach consciousness, to escape these cruel taunts that Hela was inflicting. Just as he could see the surface of reality, just as his fingertips grazed the edge of consciousness, she snatched him back again.

Pulled him under. Falling. Landing. Aching.

Pain. Everyone was draining him. He refused to accept it. Every time she tried to drown him, he'd kick and scream and try to swim back up.

Every time, he got a little bit closer, before she forced him into another nightmare.

But he would not give in. He refused.

Tony Stark was renowned for his stubborn, persistent ways. Everyone said it; that Tony Stark would piss off death.

Well, it seemed it was true.

Coughing and spluttering, Tony finally swam to surface.

Awake. Alive. And angry.

. . .

Loki had never been so disappointed to be right in his life.

"Sweet Valhalla..." Loki gasped, incandescent blue eyes lighting with the rare fires of genuine terror.

Thor turned to his brother, questions rising on his lips; yet dissolving as he saw the answers he seemed.

There must have been hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. People.

Not people.

They were dead, so clearly dead; most of them naked, with organs and body parts missing. Some were clean, freshly stitched up, but bare. Others were dressed in fine clothing, but covered in dirt and decaying.

They had co-ordination and movement, however. They were dead, but they were acting so lifelike.

They attacked in unison; Loki watched in horror as a group pounced on a screaming woman and tore into her flesh with a sharp piece of debris metal.

"This is Hela's doing." Loki spluttered. But, Thor was paying little attention. His hand was clasped tightly around his hammer and, rather suddenly, he began running. Charging.

Four walking-dead were knocked out by a single swing of his brother's Mjölnir. Loki wondered, for a second why Thor looked so desperate; and then, he saw. Thor ducked down and grabbed the almost-victim of the mob; a small, screaming child.

Hela had sent dead souls into the bodies of dead humans and told then just to kill, blindly, hadn't she? Once, that would not have disturbed Loki. Once, this was his dream; for his daughter to have similar ideals of world domination. Now, he felt his stomach curdle in disgust.

Once, he was Loki of Asgard; burdened with glorious purpose. Never had he understood or wanted that purpose. Now, he was just Loki. Loki, a foolish man, who needed to untie the tight knots of his past wrong-doings.

There was hoard of them, surrounding himself, now. Loki growled and shot a few of them down with a short shot of ice from his palm. As he fought off Hela's army, he felt a sense of concern. Maybe he did care. He definitely felt guilty; Hela was his daughter. She was damaging this world, an innocent world, and what had he done to stop her?

Not enough, that was for sure.

Briefly, as the crowds that launched him, he noticed the woman from before had got back up. But, there was no life in her eyes.

Without his sceptre, Loki felt particularly weak – though he was particularly grateful for his freedom of the shackles. He couldn't stand around and fight, he needed to find Hela. He needed to stop this madness.

Thor placed the young boy within the vicinity of the hospital. The people within gave him odd looks, but he did not care.

"Care for this child. Lock your doors. There is danger outside!" he warned. The nurses looked at him incredulously.

The child whimpered for his mother and Thor felt a stab if guilt that he and not been able to save her. "You must believe me. There are people, dead people-"

This was a hospital. People came to hospital when they were ill, or injured. That meant-

Screams erupted through the building.

People died in hospitals.

"Get everyone out of here, now!" he screamed, as people began to panic into action. A nurse picked the little boy up and ran. Thor ran, too, intent to clear some of the way for those trying to leave the hospital. As he made for the doors, a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Where's Loki?" Tony demanded.

The two of them ran through the exit, to catch a glimpse of Loki dispersing into the distance. Thor screamed after him, but Tony held him back.

"Get people behind locked, barricaded doors, up flights of stairs – these people are dead physically, but not mentally. Arm as many people as you can with anything – a lot of these bodies have decomposed, won't be hard to knock 'em down. Rigor mortis will stop most of them being able to do anything hugely physical, but they're still as smart as a regular person. Remember that." Tony ordered. Thor held back for a second, taking in the other's appearance; Tony looked truly broken. His skin was shockingly pale and there were puncture marks in his arms where Tony had obviously ripped needles out of his skin. Thor did not let his eyes pass over the heavy covering around his wrists.

"I understand." The Asgardian confirmed.

Tony nodded. "Good luck. I'm going after Loki." He said, jogging unevenly away from Thor, before he had time to argue.


	5. I Am A Flame Amongst Shadows

**Chapter Four**

**I Am A Flame Amongst Shadows **

"_I don't know what's worth fighting for,  
Or why I have to scream.  
I don't know why I instigate  
And say what I don't mean  
I don't know how I got this way,  
I know it's not alright.  
So, I'm breaking the habit."_

_The door clicked and a figure hovered over the threshold, before closing the door behind himself and standing quietly at the edge of her chambers._

"_You will be glad to see the back of me, I gather."_

_Loki tensed, ever so slightly. Azure eyes watched her with irritation, though his expression remained placid. "I have come to wish you luck, no more." He replied, coldly._

_Visibly clenching her jaw, Hela turned around. "Is this to be my gift?" she questioned, "Upon my most significant nameday, my coming of age, you offer me words of luck. Not even a prayer, nor a token of your affections. Mere words." Loki's lips parted in protest but Hela snapped them shut with her continued speech, "It is of no matter. I expected less than words, anyway."_

"_Today is a very important day. Today you are an adult woman, and you become a goddess of your own realm." Loki exclaimed, deterring her from their earlier animosities – or rather, attempting to._

_Hela grunted, "My own realm of death. Forgive me if I am not enticed by the prospect."_

_Gently, Loki took a step forwards and allow a small smirk to slip onto his features, "You may not be, but I am most definitely enticed." He replied, greed and malevolence exuding from every syllable, "Almost complete control over the transit of the dead. An entire realm of power to yourself. A realm that will only grow, for the living only die."_

_His daughter watched him with cautious, curious eyes for some moments, before she spoke. "You are only enticed because you wish to exploit my position."_

_The mischief God only shrugged, "Exploit is a dangerous word. It implies I intend to derive all benefits for myself and leave my dear daughter with empty hands." He retorted, not once breaking their tense eye contact, "In time, we may have a wonderful alliance, Hela."_

_Hela remained in silence as Loki patted her shoulder in a friendly manner, then moved away and headed for the door. "And how would you respond, were I to deny you of such an alliance?" Hela asked as he hesitated in the door way._

_Without breaking their gaze, her father replied, "I will kill you." And then closed the door behind himself._

_. . ._

_Forty six, forty seven, forty eight-_

Thor grabbed another walking dead by the collar, threw several hundred feet away and continued ushering civilians through the entrance. It was a tall building, one that graced the edge of the clouds – or so it seemed. There were stairs to every floor and a few military personnel on each floor. The lifts had been completely disabled, so the dead would have to get past tens of armed men and up even more flights of stairs to reach the living.

So far, Thor had done well at preventing casualties. Unfortunately, his mind kept retreating; where had Tony and Loki got to? Where was Hela? When would this stop?

Within the distance, although as if to deliberately distract him, Thor heard screaming and saw hoards. Looking first to check there were enough armed men and women to protect the innocents, Thor made a charge for the next hoard of what seemed to be being labelled "zombies" – Gods only knew what that meant.

Mjölnir swung forwards in his fist and crashed through a row of dead, before returning to him in time for him to smash it into another dead, who had come too close to comfort. Thor crashed his hammer into another and another, but the dead seemed to be relentless in their attacks. From his understanding, Hela's soldiers had their own minds, but could no nothing to repel their constant urge to attack. With every strike, Thor felt guilty; he was damaging the body of someone's husband or wife, son or daughter, mother or father. Someone important, who would most likely never be buried respectfully again.

A naked, organ-less man latched onto Thor's arm, scratching in vain at his armour. A decaying woman in a long, dog-eared and eaten black dress clambered on his back and tried to puncture his throat with what appeared to be a sharp, jagged leg bone. Thor grabbed her wrist, struggling with his two attackers, when a third attacked his leg. The autopsy-fied man was blocking his usage of Mjölnir almost completely, while he tried to stop his jugular being ripped out. Successfully, he kicked out and took down two approaching walkers, before throwing himself into a tree and trying to crush the woman on his back, all the while shaking his attacked arm.

Almost a moment too late, the woman on his back was thrown into the air and crushed to the ground. An arrow pierced the head of the man on his arm and he collapsed to the floor.

To his side, was Captain Rogers, who was looking a little sadly at the dead woman he'd just "killed". Agent Barton waved to them from a rooftop nearby and then made off, once again.

"I am eternally grateful for your presence." Thor breathed. Steve threw him an anxious, but sweet smile.

Rogers shrugged, "Part of the job." He replied, then hesitated, as though unsure. "Where's Loki?"

Thor crushed an oncoming dead walker with his hammer. "Gone to find Hela. Tony has followed."

"Who's Hela?" asked Agent Romanov, perching on a wall across the road to them. She snapped the neck of the zombie in front of her, then swung his body and sent another one flying. She did not comment, though she was incredibly surprised (and pleased) to know Tony was not only alive, but assisting.

Steve smiled to Natasha in anxious greeting, then turned to Thor.

The Asgardian wavered slightly. "Now is not time for explanation, I feel." He replied, though his tone told them both that he wished there would never be a time. "Hela is Loki's daughter, she-"

Thor was cut off my a hoard of zombies charging them behind. Three grabbed a hold of Thor, two of which he slaughtered rapidly with Mjölnir. As he threw the third one into the tree beside him, he heard the piercing gasp of Natasha behind him. Thor span to assist, but she was fine; instead, his eyes followed hers to see the Captain mauled by five dead – one of which had somehow acquired a large knife. Both Thor and Natasha made an instant dive to assist, Natasha taking down two dead my collapsing their head against each other, while Thor wrestling to pull the three away – particularly the armed one.

"I'm fine!" Steve assured in his innocent manner, punching one of the attackers with enough force to crush the base of the tree he landed into. The armed one made an amble-like pounce and Steve easily punched him into the ground, then moved to assist Thor to finish the last of them.

For a second, they each stood, steadying their breath, before the knife in Steve's chest caused him to collapse to the ground.

. . .

Just keep looking. Shamefully, that was all Loki could think of; how else was he to know where Hela would chose to enter? For years, he had done his utmost to deny her existence. Despite their blood relation, they were near strangers; Loki knew nothing at all about his daughter. Did she have any connections to Midgard? Also, how widespread was her attack? Did it consume the whole realm, or merely small sections?

Did it matter? Once he stopped her, everything would be okay. That would be it; his retribution.

"Looking for me?"

Oh so suddenly, Loki realised how many years it had been since he had seen Hela. Slowly, he turned to assess her appearance; she was beautiful, but held an air of callousness and coldness to her. Her features, her hair, her skin – she looked so like himself. There was irony within that, he knew.

Taking a confident gait, Loki stepped towards her for a moment or two longer, before halting entirely. "Hela," he greeted softly, his exterior calm while inside, he was doing his best to cage emotion. "It has been quite some time, has it not?"

Indifferent eyes stared back at him. "I don't know. I stopped counting a long, long time ago." She replied.

Guilt. Shame. Embarrassment. Anger. All hit him in one, brief but blinding moment. "I could not hold that against you." He admittedly, exhaling deeply. "You assume I am here to chide you, do you not?"

Hela did not respond; discreetly, Loki searched her eyes for a sign of anything. Nothing. There was no life beyond her eyes. "I am well aware that despite my efforts in the wealth department, I gave you a very broken childhood. For that, I am truly sorry. Nor will I ever ask you to forgive me." He began, slowly. With careful attention, he took a step forwards – Hela flinched, her fingers beginning to form a fist. "I was exceedingly selfish. I always felt my childhood was….difficult. My solution was to not involve myself with you. I felt if I did not act like a father, then I would not be a father. If I was not a father, I could not be a bad father."

"Well, you are. An atrocious father." She snapped, through gritted teeth and rather suddenly threw her palms forwards, flat. A relentless force shot through the air and sent Loki flying to the ground. "You made me suffer for years; denied me parents, denied me friends. Well, I will deny you of your adulthood, as you did my childhood. I will start with that man or iron. One by one, I will destroy all that you love."

The Frost Giant growled, climbing abruptly to his feet. Despite his new sense of peace, Loki was not one to be walked over. Throwing out his classic trick, Loki suddenly appeared behind Hela and hooked her neck in the crook of his elbow. "You will do no such thing, believe me." He growled to her, as she grasped his arm and struggled somewhat. "I am aware that I am the cause of all this – of your desecration of Midgard, of your disrespect for the dead. Well, I shall end it."

Sharply, Hela swung her foot into Loki's knee cap and twisted his arm, swinging violently out of his grasp and stumbling backwards. "You're vile!" she spat to him.

"You're a spoiled child, you always were!" he snapped, tensing his fists. No. No, he didn't mean that; she was not spoiled, she was hurt.

But, the damage was done.

An eruption of icy, green light flew to him and knocked him down, while instantly causing a long, agonising shock of pain. Loki lay in shock for just a second, catching his breath, but she was soon there. She let out an aggressive growl as she slammed her foot into his stomach, her expression one of complete rage.

And then, Loki saw it. The look in her eyes, the absent look; beneath the nonchalance, was the offense. The constant offense. The feeling of inadequacy.

"_Hela_," he tried again, swinging an arm into her and shoving her away as he rolled backwards and jumped straight to his feet. "Hela, I apologise. I made you feel worthless, I understand that, now. My wrongs cannot be righted by words, but nor can they be undone by vengeance. What do you gain by murdering those I care about? By destroying innocent people? You will never take earth, nor any other realm."

For a moment, it seemed he had got through to her. She stopped and she stared to her; her defences broke . "What do I gain by murdering the people you love?" she repeated, then paused. "Satisfaction." She answered.

Letting out another ferocious scream, she conjured a large spear out of that same, electrical green energy from before. As she began to charge, Loki thought; why object? Maybe if she killed him, she'd be satisfied. If it was what she wanted, he'd give it to her. He owed it to her. His death; the only present she'd receive that she truly wanted.

Hela neared him; weapon readied, but never reached him. Loki opened his eyes – having realised he'd subconsciously closed them in preparation for contact – to see Hela directly before him. Her arm was raised, but held still by something shiny and red.

**. . .**

"Clint!" Natasha summoned, charging through the hordes, making kills here and there, before vaulting herself onto some debris piled into the streets and mounting gracefully onto the roof beside Agent Barton.

Naturally, he turned to her with a gentle – though stressed, due to the circumstances – expression. "What's wrong?"

She tensed. Usually, she was so calm. Few things were capable of unsettling her. She would not allow this to be one of them; casualties were expected. "It's Steve, he's badly wounded. Where's Doctor Banner?"

"Uh…There." Clint murmured, gesturing the huge figure of the Hulk, that was pummelling down hostile dead on the ground below, a few blocks away.

Romanov swallowed, nodding. It didn't matter, Steve healed quickly. He'd be fine. They'd all be fine. Except that the knife had gone directly though Steve's heart. He wouldn't heal, not with a blade through it. But if they took it out, he'd bleed out. The only reason he hadn't died within seconds was because of his advanced genetics.

"I'll come take a look." Barton decided, judging Natasha's largely calm but hinting on panicked expression. She nodded calmly and they both began running. They crossed a few rooftops and then slid onto the pavement when there were no more roofs within jumping distance. Clint climbed off the roof first, landing with two feet onto the road. Bodies littered the streets as far as they could see - congealed blood and decaying flesh covering the walls and lampposts, too.

Natasha took a moment to assess her surroundings before jumping – and was incredibly thankful she did. "Clint, duck!" she demanded, causing the archer to dodge the hefty swing of a zombie with a crowbar. Barton quickly elbowed the attacker to the ground and spun to throw a grateful expression at Romanov, who was beginning to make a descend to the ground. Clint noticed the tall, only slightly-decayed man, a few feet away from the building Natasha was on. Swiftly, he pulled out his bow, but the arrow he shot did not pierce the dead man's head until after he had thrown the large rock in his hands. It hurled and caught Romanov's leg, tripping and causing her to fall head-first off of the roof of the building.

**. . .**

"Miss me?" Tony chuckled through the Iron Man suit. Before Loki even replied, Hela was sent crashing a few tens of feet away.

Loki only stared at the armoured avenger, who rose his mask to allow Loki to see his face. "You live?" he questioned, as though not trusting his own eyes. "I thought you dead, we all did! Dead, but at your own hand?"

"I needed to see my opposition properly." He replied, shrugging lightly, "You said it wanted me dead, so I thought what better way to meet it than to die?"

For a few seconds, Loki was only silent. There was relief; Tony had not made a desperate suicide attempt, but a reckless and selfish adventure. There was anger, too; he had thought the man dead. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by Tony pushing him aside, as a flash of green electricity narrowly missed them. Tony pushed his palm forwards and it made a satisfying _whurring_ sound, before shooting a fast bold of bright light at Hela. Successfully, it shot her down.

Tony flew towards her, landing beside her just in time for her to swing a hit in the side of his armour with her green spear. Tony made to swing at her head, but she threw herself backwards, ducking beneath it and then bounced forwards again, head-butting their helmets together and sending Tony a few, stumbled paces backwards.

"Oh, you wanna play, do you?" Tony chuckled, though he was gritting teeth beneath the mask. JARVIS wouldn't stop chiming in, warning of his low and constantly decreasing medical state. Well, Tony was aware that he was weak. But God dammit, he'd keep going. He had a personal vendetta against this bitch, now; she was the source of his nightmares, his panic attacks, his general detest of living. She caused pain beyond and behind the surface of what he knew. "I'll show you _playing."_

Hela moved to charge, but Tony grabbed her spear, twisted and slammed her – with a satisfying crash – to the ground. Swiftly, he fired from his hand, but she rolled aside and dodged the attack. She made to sit up, but Tony shoved her the dirt once more with the boot of his armour. "You put me through hell." He snarled, as though explanation for his aggression. Tony drew back his fist and made to shoot her once more, but rather suddenly the suit's defence system chimed up and he was thrown across the ground by something heavy.

Tony cursed, rolling in the ground – face first -, but the weight was still upon him. Violently, he shook it aside and moved to stand. However, he halted in a kneeling position. "You will not lay another finger upon my daughter's skin, _armoured avenger_, no matter how much she has harmed you." Loki ordered, very firmly as he rose slowly to his feet, "She is her father's daughter and she has made her father's mistake."

In utter confusion, Tony remained frozen. His body ached with lethargy, with the boiling of adrenaline in his weak body. He'd lost a lot of blood, he should still be in hospital, being treated; but here, he remained. To finish what had been started all that time ago.

Loki remained stood before Tony, but turned his had to look to Hela, who was hunched angrily in the ground some way away. "She made the same mistake as I. She believed it possible to harvest strength from anger. She believed she could untie the bonds of her own suffering and inadequacy through violence and corruption." Slowly, Loki turned his back to Tony and paced towards his daughter – who let out an animalistic growl and scrambled to her feet. "Do not make me beg; it is not within my nature to do so. Stop this madness, quell these foolish ambitions, Hela. Stop this madness and _come home_."

Pained by his own words, Loki stopped short a few feet of Hela. Rather late, he realised how similar his words were to those spoken to him by Thor.

_You give up this pointless dream! …You __**come home**__._

With a large mustering of courage, Loki pushed aside his own emotion and looked to Hela with wavering intentions. Though she had angered him – she had tried take the people he cared for, she had tortured Tony's mind almost to the brink of insanity. But, there was sorrow and guilt, too – her actions were meant as recompense for his negligence of her during childhood.

What did he want? For once, Loki truly wanted the best outcome of his situation; he wanted his daughter home, safe. He wanted his-well, whatever Tony was to him, he wanted him safe, too.

"You think a few well-placed words and a warm demeanour will right you of your wrongs?" Hela retorted, ripping through his train of thoughts rather violently, "You neglected me for my entire childhood, until I came of age when then you decided that you could exploit the power gifted to me by the Allfather. I remember the day of my nameday. You said you would kill me, your own flesh and blood, were I to deny you access to the powers of my realm! This was once what you wished for, Father; power, control. Using my strength. Captivity and age have mellowed you, but fear nor for I shall complete what you never could."

It was there again.

Inside Tony's head.

_The whispering._

Mindless noise of corruption, contortion and confusion. An orchestra of hushed screams and incoherent whines, within his mind, draining him. "Stop it!" Tony screamed, causing both Asgardian's to jump and turn to him in sudden shock, "Stop it. Where do you get off at, doing this? What's your motivation, your real motivation? You're so fucked up in the head, that you pray on people who are also fucked up in the head? You-You twist things, make things hurt, make things seem so desolate. Is that it? Is that what you do, you "corrupt" people so they'll all feel just like you did?"

"Tony-" Loki warned, face firm but his eyes revealed a level of tenderness that seemed so foreign and out-of-place in those beautiful, azure eyes.

The Iron Man shook his head, however, shedding his suit. "No." he replied, walking shakily towards them – unarmed, injured, vulnerable. Loki wanted to shout out; warn Tony not to come closer. Hela would strike, he knew it; Hela would harm him. But Tony continued and Loki remained silent. "No, I'm tired of _running_. Of hiding and pretending that I'm not losing this battle. But I'm also angry. To quote a friend of mine; you're not gonna like me when I'm angry, Hela, Loki. Now, listen. Are you fucking listening? I can't sleep. And when I do sleep, she messes with my head and gives me nightmares. I drink because the drink seems to get rid of the pain, at least for a bit. My mind is always hazy, always panicked – and I hate to admit it, always upset, too. I wanna know why. Really, what's the reasoning? Is it fun? A distraction? A vice?" Second by second, Tony's voice seemed to break; but not into sorrow. The man continued with a forcibly calm tone, but the anger behind it began to push and push.

Two sets of eyes turned to Hela, two minds on the brink of insanity and yet, she said nothing. Not for some time.

"Is there nothing but anger?" Loki asked, softly, quietly, to Hela, "Nothing but the suffering of a thousand undeserved slights?"

In that moment, Loki saw his daughter's defences break; her hardened expression crumbled, her cheek dampened with a single tear and her eyes, for the first time in so many years, gave way to genuine emotion; adoration. "I only wished for you to care for me in the manner I did for you." She replied, softly. But like all wounds, her defences healed – and rapidly. She let out a loud, angry growl and struck at her father. Loki braced, but instead of being thrown backwards by her violent attack, he was instead pushed aside. Falling to the ground, Loki watched in horror as Tony took the brunt of her attack, side on and collapsed in a bleeding, coughing mess.

There was no forethought after that. Loki raced to his feet and took Hela by surprise, drawing back his arm as a large, pointed rock of ice formed in his hand, and then plunging it into Hela's side. She let out a strangled gasp and looked to him, as her body began to shake.

"I chose not to father you, because I did not wish to be a poor father. It seems I was a poor father, nonetheless. I see than now." He apologised, moving with her as she fell to the ground and holding her, "I was always proud of you, Hela. My cruel ways lead to your unhappiness and I apologise for that. But this, all of this, it is too much. The slaughter of an entire race; it is wrong. I hope you will learn this."

Piercing eyes stared back at her father for some time, her body trembling in his arms as it tried to fight the injury that had been inflicted, "_Your_ words are recompense for nothing." She said coldly, spitting on his face, before her consciousness gave in and she passed out.

. . .

They began to fall in great numbers.

All around him, Thor saw the walking dead return to simply being dead. No movement, no fight. The disruption of their natural rest sickened him, so he was grateful that that could now return; death was not something that should ever be meddled with.

So, Loki had been of use! Hela was defeated and, in time, earth would return to its natural state! Maybe there was hope in his heart for his brother. Maybe, in time, their relationship would heal, too.

Just maybe.

However, the thoughts of joy quickly fled Thor's mind; instead he remembered the horrors that they still faced.

Captain Rogers was down; his body was advanced and able to heal a variety of wounds, but it appeared to be losing the fight against such a normally lethal blow.

Agent Romanov was down, too; it was feared she had broken her neck, falling from a rooftop, although she still breathed.

Agent Barton had flown into a blind rage upon Natasha's injury and Doctor Banner was yet to be located. Had they survived?

As for Tony Stark and Loki…

Was the sacrifice worthwhile?

In honesty, Thor was unsure.

Somewhere along the lines, the four Asgardian warriors sent to guard Tony had disbanded to help aid in the fight against the walking human dead, and had soon been joined by more. But not enough. For every live man, there were countless dead.

Regardless, earth appeared to be safe, now.

Thor decided the best idea would be to locate his brother and learn the full situation. Maybe there would be a flame amongst the shadows.


	6. I Am A Hollowed Being

**Chapter Five**

**I Am A Hollowed Being**

"_They'll try to take your pride,_

_Try to take your soul,_

_Try to take all the control,_

_They'll look you in the eye,_

_Feed you full of lies,_

_Believe me they're gonna try._

_So when you're feeling crazy,_

_And things fall apart,_

_Listen to your head, remember who you are,_

_You're the one,_

_You're the unbreakable heart."_

"You've got to trust me on this one. I can do it, I promise." Tony insisted, making an attempt to push between the two brothers.

Gently, but sternly, Thor pushed him back – yet it was still enough to force the air from Tony's chest for a few moments.

Loki shook his head slowly, "Tony, you are weak. You are beyond weak, you have verged on death not only once, but twice in this past day alone. You are in no state to be upon your feet." He chided, reinforced by Thor's nodding.

Tony raised an eyebrow to the two men before him, "I'm not on my feet." He replied, gesturing to the wheel-chair the nurses had made him use. He wasn't supposed to be up; there were still tubes and a drip following him around. His state was fast deteriorating; they'd given him another blood transfusion but he was currently refusing another. Claimed to have more important issues to handle. "And what you're saying is that I should give up my one, last, fleeting chance to save some pretty valuable people because I'm not completely healthy?" he asked and could, rather instantly, see that he had won the argument.

With a defeated sigh, Thor stood aside and allowed Tony down the corridor.

"Brother, would it be outrageous of me to you request you to go after him and ensure his safety? The man is self-destructive and reckless. We must not cost Midgard yet another of its _Avengers_." Loki requested, "Besides, I feel Hela would not take too kindly to my company."

Thor nodded in agreement to his brother's ask, although held still for a moment, curious; "Tell me, what is it that has changed you? Surely not the man of iron?" he asked. When no response met him, Thor laughed gently in a hybrid of confusion and awkwardness. "I thought your heart would never thaw, but for it to thaw in favour of _Tony Stark_? I cannot deny how perplexing I find it, Loki."

The raven-haired God shrugged, watching the corridor that Tony Stark had disappeared down, "We are one and the same, he and I." Loki murmured, by way of explanation.

It was true; their similarities ran surprisingly deep. They were both help captive by their own, stubborn pride. They were both corrupted by the depressing abyss – although, that affiliation was soon to end, he hoped. Although their mannerisms differed, Loki felt Tony was a brash, more childish duplicate of himself. He'd spent a long time, watching Tony in the background, through their connection in the void and had learned of another side, a more broken and tender side to Tony that he had never known. But he was not in love, to think so would be foolish. Merely…he empathised with the man. After everything, he hoped Tony would be all right. The man had damaged himself dearly for the greater good. Loki respected that – it was something he would have mocked, not so long ago. It was strange, how quickly times changed.

Thor chuckled, "You did always love yourself more than any. I am not surprised you have taken liking to him." He joked, creating a soft smirk on the other's features, before turning to head after Stark.

. . .

"You think he's gonna make it?" Doctor Banner asked, looking to Fury for reassurance. There was nothing. "We already lost Agent Romanov, and I don't know how well Clint's gonna deal with it- And Tony already-"

Director Fury remained silent, watching the jagged movements of Captain Rogers' chest moving up and down. Slowly, he turned to look at Bruce. Really, he should be lying through his teeth; Banner needed to remain calm. There was a heavy tremor running through his body that Bruce was clearly trying his hardest to fight and Fury did not like the look of it, not one bit.

"Tony Stark lives."

Both Fury and Banner snapped their heads upwards, though refrained from standing. Thor had informed them that Loki was to be trusted – but that did not dull the fires of concern within them. Loki was a dangerous, complex being.

The man's words sunk in, slowly.

Bruce shook his head. "No, no I asked to see him and his bed was empty." He argued, though more out of disbelief than anything, "He was gone! He killed himself."

Loki's azure eyes mulled with something similar to satisfaction; old habits die hard, and Loki could still enjoy the feeling of knowing something that no-one else did. "You mistake the man's courage for cowardice. The man took a trip to meet his adversary, no more. He wishes for life. In fact, he walks these halls now, with my brother, to see her."

"Her?" Fury questioned; despite their best efforts, S.H.I.E.L.D had not yet sourced the cause of the attack; their efforts had been concentrated on stopping it as best they could.

The Asgardian raised his head "I see there is much explaining to be done." He murmured, though he never did explain, for the heart monitor beside Rogers began to deteriorate, fast.

. . .

There was darkness.

Around her, nothing. It was nothing and yet it was everything; it was the beginning, middle and end. It was the abyss, the storm, the flame. The left and right, the dark and night. She was falling.

It was terrifying.

She tried to reach out, to grab something, but there was nothing. Empty space. Screams erupted from her throat, but fell silent on her lips. Around her, space, darkness. She reached out so quickly that she doubted the very existence of her own body.

And then she landed. And it hurt. Everywhere. There was no doubt, just searing agony.

From the shadows, came a voice. A man. But, as he spoke his words were lost in the air and instead all she heard was the incoherent mumbles of an eloquent tone. Behind her, footsteps.

"Do you know the true depth of the darkness?" her father asked her, his voice echoing again and again. She tried to reply, to touch him, but she found herself unable; there was pain and yet, no body. No tongue to speak, nor hands to touch.

Just like that, he was gone. From another direction, another voice; a voice that screamed and called out in the night. She turned and there he was – Tony's face, broken and torn as his mind was plagued by nightmares. Around him, blood. The blood pooled and pooled until it overtook the darkness and she felt herself suffocating.

"_Is there nothing but anger?" _her father echoed, crystal clear despite the liquid around her.

No.

Nothing.

_It was the only gift you gave me, father, yet you ask me to disregard it?_

Everything seemed to fade, while another voice began to drone on. The red began to distort, to grey, then to a brilliant white. The white soon morphed into details; white walls, white light, blue curtains.

The voice became more coherent.

"-I know it, though he said not in so many words. He cares for you deeply, of as much I am sure."

"…I guess that's another thought for another day."

"I understand. I mean not to plague your mind, only to offer truth and reasoning. It is the least I can do."

"Well, thanks, Shakespeare."

Hela's eyes fluttered reluctantly open and, rather instantly, fixed onto Tony.

"She arises. I will be but a call away." Thor said quietly, nodding to the pair of them and moving to join the Asgardian guards that stood outside the room, closing the door not quite completely behind him.

The death goddess stared at Stark for quite some time, who sat beside her in a wheel-chair, while she reassured herself that she had a body. "Not only do you spit upon me, but you wish to see my nose rubbed in it, also." She cursed quietly.

To her surprise, the armoured avenger looked down and shook his head. "Mom always taught me not to pick on the sick." He joked. Hela did not appreciate the humour. "Look, the Asgardians are wanting to lock you away the rest of your life, which I hear is a pretty long while for you God-people."

Hela looked away, studying the details of the wall in front of her so that her mind did not stray to a bad place. Captivity. Eternally. The very idea conjured a sickness in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm here to offer you an alternative." Tony said, voice suddenly crystal clear. An alternative? From the enemy? From the man she had hounded desperately?

Slowly, she moved to sit up in the bed and stare rather levelly at Tony. Though nothing was said, Stark was very well aware that he had her full attention. "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, ya get me? I can work it out that you the palace in Asgard. You'll be under close watch, but not lock and key. In time, they'll give you back your own place. Bit by bit. If you prove trust-worthy."

"And in return, you wish for what?" she asked, dubiously. Secretly, this idea appealed to her; maybe, a chance to mend broken bridges. Had she further intentions of revenge against her father? She was unsure. There was anger, so much anger; a tight spring within her chest that with every second grew tighter and tighter and would one day explode into a fury of wrath. No-one would live, were that to happen, she would make certain. But could she rid herself of this coil?

Did she want to? The anger made misery, pain; yet it gave her strength. Though, was it true strength, or merely the illusion of strength?

The armoured avenger's eyes fell onto her and, truly, she saw the depth of pain she had caused. Though nearly colourless, Tony's eyes held no deceit – they were a flood of loss, of anger, of pain, of sorrow. Broken. There was no other way to explain it. She lay defeated and yet it was Tony who was lost. Somewhere, deep down, there was pride in her work. But, primarily, disgust. She had created something despicable – something that reminded herself all too much of herself. "Bring them back." He said, quietly but firmly, "You can put peoples' consciousness or _whatever_ back into their bodies. Do it. People have died, that is something that can't be fixed. Usually. You can fix it. Do it."

No power. No money. No exploit. Tony only wanted life, didn't he? That's all he ever wanted.

No wonder her father took a liking to him; Tony possessed each of Loki's good traits, all wrapped into a slightly unusual bundle. Charming, charismatic, characteristic and, deep down, caring.

And, though she would not admit it to even herself, she wanted to help him. Even if they locked her up, she would happily return to Tony everything he had ever lost.

"I didn't get on with my dad much, either." He murmured, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, head turned slightly away from her as though he had decided his request was foolish and instead wished to deter her mind elsewhere. "I mean, I loved him. A lot. All kids gotta love their dads, am I right? But, he was never there. I hated it for him, deep down, I think. I think I still do."

A ploy for attention, sympathy? She wondered and yet could not bear to break away; his words latched onto her and forced their way inside her head. "We get this _awful _complex, as kids, that our parents need to be perfect." He said, smiling sadly to himself, "But they don't. They can't be. They can do their best, but sometimes it's not enough. Sometimes, there's to much to balance and a parent has gotta ask themselves; what's best for my kid? He loved me, I know that know. I just guess my dad felt that leaving me a legacy, stability was the best way to ensure my happiness. I had mom, I had plenty of emotional support. Maybe I missed him, maybe he missed me. That's how it was. He secured that I'd never need anything in life. I guess I can't ask him for anything else."

What happened next was something that would plague Hela for quite some time.

Tony Stark dropped his head onto the bed and began to cry, in ragged, soft breaths.

For a while, Hela sat in silence. In the doorway, she noticed Thor glance sadly within; then, he glanced to her with something similar to contempt. So many people cared for Tony Stark, did they not? So many and yet Tony Stark was fast becoming a shell of a man, more by each day. At night, he could not sleep and if he did, she had ensured he would be ravaged by nightmares. During the day, he lived alone and tinkered with his suits, his technology. He drank until he could not walk, sometimes more, and yet it did not fill the swift-evolving hole within his head.

Loki had wronged her. Loki had neglected her until she became of use to him. That was true and that was something, right now, she felt she could never forgive him for. That was worse than what Tony had been through with his father. But nothing was impossible and, one day, she hoped she could be as understanding and accepting as him. It would be nice, to feel warmth.

"I cannot bring them all back, that is beyond my capabilities. I can put their souls back into their bodies with ease, but I am unable of healing so many bodies. Healing is not my speciality, I doubt I could heal more than a handful of bodies into working condition. The permanent resurrection of so many would cause nature to be unbalanced; by soldiers were only meant to stay around until the deed was done, then I would dispose of them. But I promise to guide each of their souls to Hel and ensure their safety through the void." She said, softly, once Tony began to mellow. "I will also bring back the friends you lost. That is as much as I can do."

Slowly, the armoured avenger's head rose and he rubbed the sides of his face. There was so much shame within his expression. "That's good. That's really good."

"I will heal you, too." She whispered, quietly, watching as Tony subconsciously ran a thumb over the bandaging on his wrists.

The armoured avenger looked up to her and thanked her, though she could not tell whether he meant it; whether he truly wished to live.

Hela nodded gently to him, "I believe your mother was a smart woman. You should not pick on the sick." She whispered. Tony looked to her with wide eyes for a moment, before dismissing himself in silence. She watched, as Thor threw a confused expression to her and then followed Tony.

**. . .**

Why?

It was so unfair.

Tears ran down his face and his head hung, cradled over the flat, rail-less bed and yet he had no shame. There wasn't room for shame. Sorrow, anger, anguish, guilt, but not shame.

Death. So permanent.

Why was he so upset?

Death was inevitable, especially in their line of work.

But, she just slipped and broke her neck. Because she was looking out for him. If he'd have died, she'd have been okay; she would have moved, would have missed being hit.

_What if_?

It was the trademark question of the bereft. And it hurt because at the end of every _what if _was life.

Clint ran his arm across his bruised and cut cheek – even after Natasha's death, he continued to fight, fuelled by rage -, drying it of tears. Futile, of course, because more continued to fall. With heavy eyes, he watched her; the smooth, pale outline of her skin in contrast to her vivid, red hair. The gentle lift and curve of her nose. The small puffs of her cheeks, the gentle white skin of her closed eyelids, the long, black eyelashes. The rounded, pink lips that moved gently with a breath.

Baton blinked. A trick of the eye he was in a state. But then, as though to disprove his thoughts, her eyelids moved, too. And quite suddenly, she let out a graceless, terrified gasp for air. Without thinking, he grabbed her and pulled her upright and held her as she tried to force as much oxygen into her lungs as possible. Then, as she appeared to begin breathing, ( as opposed to spluttering) he held onto her, tightly.

"Clint?" she asked, in confusion.

Ignoring her, he continued to hold her for quite some time. Then, he pulled away and admired her eyes; her open, blinking, _living _eyes. "You're a miracle." He stuttered. Maybe this was a sick dream, a twisted trick. How on earth had she woken up? He watched her neck break, he chest remain still. Felt her non-existent pulse. Maybe questions would be answered later. He didn't care.

Natasha looked to him incredulously, oblivious to the situation, "Have you been drinking?"

Clint only laughed a shocked, bewildered and overjoyed laugh.

**. . .**

Well, he'd done this before.

Different situation, he supposed.

The light came first; fuzzy, wavering, but soon transforming into the shapes of people, items, furniture. The sound came, too; voices, the general sounds of ambience, a background beeping.

Vaguely, he could make out a few figures stood in front of him, stone-still.

Rather suddenly, there was an odd sensation in his chest; a popping and suddenly his mouth fell involuntarily open, air racing to reach his lungs.

"How long have I been out this time?" Steve asked, sitting up and clutching his head and then, his chest, "Does anyone have any pain relief, I have a bit of heartburn."

Bruce blinked. "Director Fury, are you seeing this, too?"

"I am, indeed, Doctor Banner." He replied, hinting towards genuine confusion.

Captain Rogers sat up, looking around, "Where am I?" he asked, furrowing his brow heavily and rubbing his eyes, tiredly, "Did we win?"

Silence remained. Steve noticed that Bruce and a couple other people were wearing weird plastic-looking pyjamas Fury wasn't, but by the look of it he had just run in, now. "Uh…Yeah, yeah we did…" Banner replied, jumping as someone knocked on the large, plastic, transparent wall across one side of the room.

A smile spread across his lips and he waved, "Hey look, it's Agent Barton and Agent Romanov!" he exclaimed with a rather childish smile, "Hey, any news on Tony?"


	7. I Am Tony Stark

**Chapter Five**

**I Am Tony Stark**

"_God, I've lied, am I lost in your eyes?_

_This hate that you gave me, _

_Keeps saying the same thing;_

_Just let it burn."_

Goodbyes were always difficult. Even happy goodbyes were difficult. It seemed to be a word Tony Stark struggled to say; he preferred to dance around the word and assume he'd see them again.

Well, this time, he knew for a fact he would see them again; who could avoid death?

"Are you sure you will return with us, brother?" the blonde asked, an intricate sceptre hanging from one hand, a heavy, Celtic-looking hammer from the other. Behind him, stood four, huge men, adorned in ornate golden armour; in the middle of them, a tall and beautiful gothic woman with bound hands.

A pale, black-haired man with incandescent, azure eyes and a striking resemblance to the gothic woman shook his head, "There is much yet that I must do, before I may consider myself a repented man." He said in an eloquent, formal and rather enticing voice. His eyes strayed to the woman in the background. "Once I have cleared mind and made peace here, I shall return to address my most valuable challenge. Till then, I bid you well."

The muscular blond grinned, "Are you sure this is not in relation to Tony Stark?" he teased, though they both knew the answer.

From behind the raven-haired gentleman, another man stepped forwards; considerably shorter, but equally as handsome – firm jaw, organised stubble, dark brown hair, muscles and deep, chocolate eyes. "Hey, ya shouldn't talk about someone behind their back." He scolded, mockingly.

"Then you should pay more attention, friend." The blond retorted with a grin. "Good bidding to you, Tony Stark."

The brunette half-smiled, "Yeah, and to you, Shakespeare." He replied, eyes hovering past him and, like the raven-haired man, focussing on the woman. "I'll see you later, too."

"Not for some time, I hope." Hela replied, tone laced with genuine sincerity.

. . .

Sometime, quite soon after the farewell, Tony collapsed from exhaustion and was re-hospitalised. Hela had healed the wounds on his body, but his muscles and mind were still fatigued; he had been through a lot, and his difficulties sleeping were of no help.

There was darkness, in his dreams.

But, the darkness began to break; in amongst it, grew spots of light in the silhouettes of people.

"_Where's Tony?_" a voice asked in an echo, bouncing around the environment with an air of humour to it.

Tony moved forwards, closer to the emerging figures. As he came closer, he saw one of them was Captain Rogers; his arms were folded and there was a playful smirk on his face.

Besides him, Agent Romanov and Doctor Banner looked very stony. Agent Barton was there, too, calm as ever – though not in the rather traumatised way that Banner and Romanov seemed to appear. Opposite them, Director Fury sat on a desk. His face, too, looked very disturbed.

The armoured avenger let out a chuckle, "I'm here, guys!" he exclaimed. No-one responded.

"_Couldn't be bothered to get here on time_?" asked the voice again, and this time Tony could tell that it was Captain Rogers.

Tony furrowed his brow. He tried to throw an insult at Steve, but he realised that none of them could hear him; he was separate, segregated. Fury moved uncomfortably. "Tony Stark was admitted into hospital earlier today." He said, his words echoing even more than Steve's; they hit invisible walls and ricocheted into a thousand pieces.

With horror, Tony realised what he was watching; he realised he was watching the avengers, his colleagues find out that he had committed-

"_Suicide_." Bruce's silhouette murmured in a staged whisper. The word, the filthy word brought shame to Tony's mind; it returned, again and again. The word. Not just an echo, but a repetition. _"Suicide. Suicide. Suicide. He's not doing good."_

Tony waited. He waited for the angry comments, exclaiming how selfish Tony was, how foolish for trying to take away the gift of life – he waited and anticipated the intolerance and dis-acceptance of people who did not understand.

But it did not come.

In place, there was an epitome of grief; shock, sorrow, pain, guilt, horror.

They cared.

They were not colleagues; they were friends.

Director Fury began to speak some more and the Avengers seemed to cover their true emotions, instead focusing on whatever Fury was saying; Tony could not hear, for their voices became muffled and they began flicker, then fade. Then, they were gone.

And he was alone.

"_Havoc-_" Just like before, it bounced and shook around the room; an explosion in the form of two, tiny syllables. "_Havoc is occurring within_ _Midgard._"

Another figure, behind him grew from the ground. He was tall, broad in a muscular sense and his voice deep, unfamiliar.

"_We are aware."_ Familiar voice, this time. This figure, too, was tall and muscularly built but with less armour and mid-length hair. Thor. "_My father has sent us to offer assistance and retrieve Hela."_

Silence. Another figure began to grow from the ground, one that Tony recognised instantly; Loki.

The unfamiliar figure stepped forwards, "_Tony, too?"_

Again, it was happening again; people were learning of his embarrassing secret. Tony had not done the deed directly to kill himself – rather, it was genuinely to face Hela, "in person" -, but it had always been…an underlying thought. The idea. Of death. It had always felt like an ever-looming, ever-growing option.

"_What about him?" _gasped a terrified voice. Loki's figure scrambled forwards and his features became very clearly visible. They were ridden with guilt, with horror and terror and disbelief. His eyes were wide, crazy and his mouth partially-open in silent agony; it was the expression of father losing son, of brother losing brother, of someone losing the one person that truly meant _everything_.

They disappeared, slowly, before Tony's eyes; and he was alone, again. "_He died, Thor…"_ cried Loki's croaked and broken voice as he finally faded away.

"You stare into an empty abyss. You knock upon its door, fearlessly. You are an oncoming storm, of anger and destruction. You are a true flame amongst the hopeless shadows. You are a hollowed being. But you are not broken." Whispered a voice; _the _voice, the one that plagued his dreams and now, set him free. The voice of madness and reason. The voice of Hela, Goddess of Death. "You are on the path to repair, repent. You are Tony Stark."

The darkness lifted from nothing, to something. There was a figure. In front of him. A figure that had always been there, lifting the darkness and silencing the whispers, as best he could.

Loki.

"I owe you my gratitude." The God said quietly. Oddly, he wore a black suit with a white, open shirt. He was looking more _earthly_. "You threw yourself in harm's way for my sake and for that, I am grateful."

Tony rubbed his eyes tiredly, cleared his vision ever so slightly. He watched Loki; watched the odd, foreign emotions in his eyes. "Well, I got a few thank yous to make, too." He admitted, surprised by how groggy his voice was. How long had he been out? "But I got an apology, too. Sorry. For ignoring you. For not trusting you, for not realising that all that time…all you really wanted…Well, for not realising you were a good guy. I'm also sorry about Hela. Sorry. For everything."

Loki's lips drew ever so slightly into a smile; a small, genuine smile. "Do not thank me. Forgive me. For everything. And for this." He said as he moved and, very much to Stark's surprise, planted a kiss on his lips.

Tony had never kissed another guy before. Well, maybe a few times in college, but he didn't remember. But this kiss? He would remember it for a long time. It would be the first of many. And tonight, tonight would be the first of many nights, too. Nights of companionship, comfortable sleeps and _peace_

No more daemons.


	8. Postlude

**Postlude**

Solitude.

It was not a foreign concept.

Nor was it a welcomed concept.

But, it was all right because it was not, in honesty, true solitude.

It was comfortable. Quiet. Peaceful. A place in which she could think and relax. It was not a prison, just a room in which she spent most of her time. Besides, she was not confined.

There was company. Her grand-father and uncle would visit her. Sometimes, in her head, she could hear her father. He was happy, now. With Tony. He was happy with her, too, because she was being quiet. She had helped Tony and his friends. She was at peace. Her solitude would not be forever.

And besides, how long was forever?

In her head, she could hear Tony, too, but his soul sounded very faint, now. His soul was a long way away from the abyss.

That affiliation was over.

"_**We create our own daemons."**_


End file.
